Miracles Never Cease   Tony and Maxxie in Russia
by Velvetbabe
Summary: Maxxie's POV.  Slash, and how.  NC17.  Graphic sex and bad language and turmoil and hotness.
1. Chapter 1

******Author's note**_**:** _Tony and Maxxie (aka "Taxxie") are a slash fan's dream. My thanks to the writers of Skins for hooking them up at all, if too briefly. Here is my lustful take on what could have been for these two, but sadly, was not. Bear in mind that this is a multi-chapter story, so please remember to read on ...

**_Disclaimer_**: This story is based on characters and situations owned by the creators of the British tv series Skins. I claim no copyright or ownership.

**Warning**: Explicit slash (if you consider that a warning) as well as naughtiness ahead.

**Reviews are welcome and greatly encouraged ! _Please _let me know what you think !**

* * *

**Miracles Never Cease – Chapter 1**

It's 3am when Tony stumbles through the door, pissed and reeking and muttering to himself, no matter that I'd been dead fucking asleep.

I keep perfectly still, determined to ignore him and get some badly needed rest. It's my very first day in Russia for god's sake, and has proven an unbelievably stressful one. First, we flew 6 hours through two storms during which I threw up twice. When we arrived, in the dead of winter mind you, there was no transportation to be had and so we were escorted to our 'hotel', a former jail it turns out, via the back of an open dump truck. Then, depressingly enough, Anwar, my best friend of 5 years, informed me that he thinks gays are "sick" and "wrong"; I mean, can you believe that shit? I then stupidly confessed this to Tony, who, out of the completely clear freaking blue, came onto me, which I cannot believe even as I lie here. Wanted to try something new, he said. Too quickly, now that I think of it, he had offered up Sid as my replacement- not himself, opening up the room to just he and I. I mean, it's well known Tony gets around, but never in a million years did I imagine he would've swung both ways. Tony the ladies man? Come on! The problem, I've come to realize, is that brain of his- he's so bloody intelligent that he bores almost instantly, and so is always up for adventure, for putting a new twist on things and here I had unknowningly presented him with one. A challenge. Can Tony Stonem get off with a boy? Great. Fantastic. He's supposed to be my friend for fuck's sake. And I'm supposed to be his, _and_ Michelle's. So thanks, Tony, thanks a lot, for tempting me, for putting me right in the goddam middle.

Ya, I said it. Tempting. It's not like Tony isn't _tempting_ for fuck's sake- of course he is. Temptation personified. He's crazy good looking, with those lips, gigantic blue eyes, perfect pure pale porcelain skin that has never known a zit or a blemish, the highest set of cheekbones maybe in the universe, that gorgeous head of thick, dark hair, and then to boot he's tall as a motherfucker _and_ his body is perfectly porportioned, exactly as I like it- swimmer's build, with plenty of small muscles and bumps. Really, in conjuring up my dream male, Tony, physically speaking, is pretty much it. _Physically_. Personality wise however, he can be a right cunt.

He, meanwhile, the drunken adonis opposite me, is stumbling around, hopping on one leg as he removes his trousers, and falls backward onto the cot.

"Bitch ... fucking _bitch_ ..." he mutters.

Michelle, then. Wonder what she's done, or rather, what Tony wanted her to do at 3 in the morning.

"Y'awake?" he croaks into the room.

As if! Nope! I'm squinting at him but lying completely still, awaiting the moment when he stops fidgeting and goes the fuck to sleep. Then, _finally_, just as it seems as though he's about to ... oh shit, oh holy bleeding fucking christ ... he's not going to ... not with me right here? Yes ... oh shit ... oh _fuck!_ ... as I watch in the dim light, a hand slips straight down past his waistband ...

Okay. _Okay_. This is officially too much. The motion of his hand ... the quiet rise and fall of his chest _... _that unmistakeable sound ... _fuck ..._ of skin on skin ... _Oh fucking christ ... _I literally can't believe what I'm seeing. And that's it; instantly, I'm hard. Not a chance in hell I was gonna survive that.

It all makes sense, then: He stumbled into Michelle's room just now eager for a quickie, even with Jal right there, and the two girls have kicked him out on his arse. And now, here am I, the only gayboy in the group, forced to room for a whole _week_ with the beautiful randy bastard ... Why god, why? What I wouldn't give to have just a _teeny_ tiny piece of him ... However, there is no way he's gonna find that out. Nope. Give Tony that sort of power? No.

Yes, I fancy myself a principled being ... but it doesn't mean I have to close my eyes, now does it? Not when Tony Stonem is beating off right in fucking front of me.

Mercifully, it's over quick. He inhales sharp and sudden, and then stutters out the most amazing ragged gaspy moan ... fuck! ... wow! Dead hot! ... _dead fucking wicked!_ ... As if I'm not hard enough, I mean, I now actually know what Tony sounds like when he comes. I've actually been in the same small _room_ with him! Something I've yes, thought of, okay, _beat off to_ a few dozen times or so ...

He's panting over there, just feet from me, slowly getting his breath back ... all while I lie here in absolute torment silently begging: please god, is there no way I can be permitted to crawl over and lick the remnants off his hand, his chest, ... cock?

Principles, what principles?

After a beat he flips onto his side, facing my direction. My lids slap shut. Suddenly he's speaking to me, voice gruff and worn.

"Pervy gay boy."

I freeze. Bastard! He didn't see me ...?

"Max, you can quit pretending. I know you're watching."

"Huh?" I answer, trying to sound groggy. "I'm trying to sleep, can you shut-"

"-Liar. You're hard, aren't you?"

How does he ...? _Bastard _!

"I'm trying to _sleep_, Tony!"

"But you can't- not with that woody in your trousers."

"Fuck _off _!" I flip over in embarrassment, facing the wall. "Go _fuck_ yourself!"

"If I could fuck myself, Max, I wouldn't need to toss off. I'd be _quite_ sexually satisfied in fact."

I hate how calm and assured he sounds- that he can even convey this quality when drunk is especially maddening.

"Great! Fine!" I snap. "Just shut up and go to sleep, then."

"Nope. Not unless you let me give you head."

"Will you _fuck off _?"

"Why not, Maxxie?"

"_Why not _?" I'm practically shouting. "How about, I'm trying to sleep? How about, you're straight, for starters!"

He whispers. He actually sounds a little hurt.

"So _un_straighten me a little. Seriously Maxxie, you're hard, I'm bored; can you think of a single reason why we shouldn't do this? You fancy me, don't you?"

Oh boy, not touching that one.

"_Michelle_," I offer quickly. "Michelle is my friend, and _your_ girlfriend. There's a damned good reason."

"Nips just kicked me out of her bed. I think she actually wants to break up."

Ahh, well come to think of it, she _has_ seemed unusually frosty towards him of late.

"Well ... what did you do, though?"

"Thanks, Max; just assume I did something."

"Well ..."

"She wouldn't fuck me in the boiler room just now."

"Huh? The _boiler_ room?"

"Well it was either that or in front of Jal, which _I_ would have totally dug-"

"-Tony she's not gonna fuck you in front of her friend!"

"Fine, so why not in the boiler room then?"

"It's not exactly romantic, you twat! Why the fuck did you even suggest it?"

"Chelle's a shrieker for fuck's sake- _that's_ why. Plus, doing it amongst all that oily Russian machinery ..." he chuckles, "wouldn't've been boring."

"What, you find sex with her boring?"

He sighs.

"I just ... I need new things, Max. I need to mix things up, try shit on. Boiler room'd been something new."

"But she's a girl, Tony. She's not gonna wanna get herself all greasy and smelly in there."

I can hear in his voice that he's cracked that devious smile.

"Perfect segue, spot on, bringing us back to the central topic."

"Which is, let's shut up and go to _the fuck back to sleep ?_"

"Which is: 1) _you're_ not a girl, 2) you like boys, and 3) you could teach me head. Totally new !"

I groan out loud. He ignores me.

"Max, I've been fucking girls for 5 solid years—"

"Since you were _12_ ?"

"Yes- is there something wrong ?"

"You lost your virginity when you were _12 years old_ ?"

"Yes, Max."

"How old was the girl?"

"16."

"You got off with a _16 year old_ when you were-?"

"-I was always both overly tall and extremely dashing for my age. _Anyway_, point is, I've had bucketloads of pussy, every which way you can have it, pretty much."

"So? Your problem with that is? Most guys would-"

"-I'm not exactly most guys, am I ? It's been good, but I really do think I'm getting a little bit bored."

I sigh in exasperation.

"You're drunk, Tony. What you probably need is _less_ sex. Why don't you try that for a change? That way you'll stop taking all the pussy you're getting for granted, for fuck's sake."

"No, that is _not_ what I need. Believe me, my sex drive is ... What I need is more _variety_. _That's_ the motherfuckin' answer."

"Variety."

"Yes. Which is where you step in."

"Tony, I told you, I'm not a hobby."

"No, but you're my friend, and the only poof I know, so maybe you could stop being such a sanctimonious twat and help me with this."

All through this exchange, my cock has been pounding, pounding ... eating away at my resolve. On the one hand, I'm in total disbelief that we're even _having_ this absolutely mind blowing conversation; on the other, despite my friendship with Michelle, if they really _are_ going to break up- if that's genuine (and I don't doubt it- she's lasted longer than most) ... then the prospect of some sort of sexual encounter with Tony, even if he _is _a bastard, even if it's essentially meaningless to him, an experiment ... is so balls-out exciting I can barely fucking stand it.

Still, I give it one more pushback, just to be sure, and to relieve my pending guilt ...

"Michelle ..."

"Nips wouldn't find out, Max. Nobody would. We're in Russia- what goes in Russia, stays in Russia. Tony will guarantee it."

Christ, he knows how to close a deal. When I don't respond, his feet hit the floor. A second later he's sitting on my cot. Mother of sweet jesus. He rests a hand on the edge of my hip and I jump in surprise, and again when he slides it straight downward.

"Christ," he whispers. "You couldn't _be_ any harder."

"Fuck off," I whine, mortified, and slap at his hand.

He then slides down directly behind me, spoon style, pressing his body close ...

"Tony- _fuck_!"

He presses his lips into my neck.

"Come on, Max. Your cock ain't lyin'. Let's just try something. _Please _? I _really_ want to."

"But ... what do you ... I don't-"

"-It's okay," he whispers seductively into my ear, "it'll be alright, I promise. Okay ?"

... and without further ado, slithers a hand under my waistband.

I stammer like a 6 year old.

"I-I th-thought you w-wanted to-"

"Gotta start _some_ place."

And so ... I give in. Who am I, after all, to spit in the face of a minor miracle which has fallen quite literally, quite magically into my very lap?

And now it's for me to lie comfortably in his arms and ...

Oh god. He moves slow at first, thumb teasing ... neck, head, caressing the seam, gripping sweet and tight, and it's virtually unbearable. If I can stand 15 seconds of this ...

For some reason, despite the situation, despite my embarrassment that I've been so easily conquered ... I'm still trying to maintain some sense of decorum. My mouth however, has popped open and from it comes my first laboured breaths which I can sense he's intently listening to, as a guide.

Fucker! I can't hide, and what would be the point? To save face, yes, which is a complete joke. Tony's wrapped himself round me and is quietly jerking me off, okay? Can you top that? He knows more about me right at this moment than all of my family and friends combined. And to boot, as if all of this isn't enough, he's got The Actual Goods pressed right into my backside- we are each only wearing thin underwear.

Surely this is gay torture.

His pace quickens, drawing me into a steady pant, and then the bastard flicks his tongue against my ear.

"_Good _?"

I can't possibly respond ... I'm losing my fucking mind ... sweating ... muttering ... the whole world reduced to the soft, smooth motion of his hand ... the knowledge of that warm body, that _cock_ up against me ... and exactly how close I am.

He bites down, pulling gently on my lobe and whispers.

"Teach me head?"

With that thought, I erupt, quaking in his arms.

It's several seconds before I surface, gasping. My eyes open to find him reaching for the first of several tissues.

"Fuck, Max, when is the last time you ... I mean, has it been 9 months or something?"

What does he expect? _He_ just jerked me off! I scramble for cover.

"No", I blush. "It's just ... um, y'know ... not so, y'know, _easy_ finding ... um, a boyfriend." No lie there.

"_Boyfriend_- who needs a boyfriend ? You're good looking, you're blonde, you're fit- _use_ that, ya twat. You don't need to get _married _for fuck's sake. Stop being such a _girl_."

A part of me flushes with pride, a part of me is insulted. Typical Tony.

I flip over and face him, still in utter disbelief over the turn of events.

"Tony, what is going on? Seriously. Why in fuck did you do that?"

He squints.

"What, did you not like it?"

"No- that's not the _point_."

"Ya, cuz you just jizzed like a maniac-"

"-Yes, I know! I meant ..."

He shrugs.

"I think I explained myself. If 'chelle doesn't want me, if I've pretty much had every other girl in town and my cock's still ragin' all the time... maybe it's time to let it, y'know, _wander_."

It strikes me that Tony puts to words and to actions, what all of us feel and want but wouldn't dare admit, let alone set into motion. In other words, he's the only one of us with any balls.

"Okay," I inquire, with a smirk,"well, so I have to ask ... what was it like?"

He laughs.

"I don't know. It was weird. Familiar but weird."

"Well have you ever, y'know, touched a guy, ever?"

"_Fuck_ no. Not even close. Very first time. Other than my own cock, my hand's a right virgin." He grins that grin and holds it. His eyes sparkle with mischief. "Mouth, too."

_Jesus fucking christ. _

It slams home: Tony, a very willing, very open and experimental Tony, is lying in my bed, right here, all but naked. What am I doing _arguing_ with him, fighting him for fuck's sake, hell, _talking_ to him when I could be ... besides, he may very well disappear into a puff of smoke and I'll wake up in a sticky puddle.

I push him back and climb over, twisting my hands into his hair and claiming that virgin mouth. He may reek of vodka and coke, but I'm happy to report that he tastes like cinnamon and sweet, hot mulling spices and I'm suddenly flushed with jealousy – _Michelle turns this away ?_

Thrillingly, he kisses back, seemingly unfazed by his very first encounter with stubble (though I'm not all that hairy). We go on, messy, open-mouthed, and it's steaming me up something fierce. I lower my pelvis, press towards him ... and am stupidly disappointed to find him unresponsive.

Well ... he _is_ straight, jackass. Maybe this isn't going to go any further, after all. Maybe he's changed his mind already- an experiment that didn't work- at least for him.

I pull back.

"Is this ...? Sorry, I just ..."

He lowers a hand and hooks his thumb into his waistband. An eyebrow raises.

"Teach me head?"

And it hits me ... bastard! It's all been a ruse. A door to a free blowjob. Classic Tony-style manipulation.

"You motherfucker. I thought you wanted to-"

"I _do, _Max. I wasn't kidding, I swear. You can teach me both ways. Maybe first, by example, like." He flashes that grin again and I instantly soften.

"Ya but ... something tells me you've already had plenty of _example_."

"Most girls don't know what the fuck they're doing down there. Rumor has it it takes a _man_."

I laugh.

"So I need you to shut up and be a _man_, already. Okay?"

I laugh harder.

"Okay."

"Teach me. Seriously."

I peck him on the lips.

"Yes. If I must."

As I lower my face and nibble and kiss my way down his beautiful perfect pale neck, collarbone and chest, a wave of nervousness and disbelief begins to overtakes me.

_I_ ... one small and meek Maxxie Oliver ...

am about to

give

_Tony_ fucking _Stonem_

a

b

l

o

w

j

o

b.

In fact, I'm heading there right now.

Only problem being ... simply by virtue of the fact that I like cock, he's expecting miracles, and here I've only ever done it about 3 and a quarter times.

I stop dead, take a few deep breaths to calm myself, and before looking down, look up.

"Absolutely dead sure about this?"

He grins.

"You're not goin' _pussy_ on me?"

"I'm just nervous, Tone."

"You're not gonna bail on me though ?"

I spy those full soft lips, which, against the milk-white of his skin are an eerily natural ruby red ... and have a sudden flash of them completely enveloping my cock.

I look at him ...

"_No_."

... and kiss him again. Slower, more intense, before pulling myself away.

And now the dilemma ... go right for it, or savor this most incredible of moments? Ahh, such a conundrum. Well, what would Tony prefer? Right to it, undoubtedly, but this isn't entirely about him, is it? In fact ... it's not about him at all. This is me, Maxxie, living out a fantasy, one that every single gay kid I know would literally give their left nut for. This is me stepping inside of my own daydream, _wet_ dream to be precise, and finding it alive, well, full colour, pulsing.

Still, my jitters aren't abating- not exactly conducive to ... Calm down, arsehole, or you'll ruin it.

What the fuck do I ..._ how exactly does this work, again?_

Suddenly my brain is flushed with the memory of those amazing times with Jake, some months back. Maybe the first real and certainly best oral I've had. What made it good ...? Okay, yes ... he, well ... he took his sweet time. He just did. He made it seem like he'd been waiting all his life for it. He essentially made love to my cock.

Yes.

I shimmy down his body and take my first real look at the glorious, rather promising looking mound encased as it is in clean white cotton. Yes, it's quite evident that Tony is a decent size, but then that's hardly surprising- he's tall as anything, long of limb and has huge feet. Not that size has ever meant much to me; I'm more into the beauty of the male organ rather than it's dimensions, but ... I do feel a bit of a thrill at this confirmation. If Tony had been small, it just wouldn't have been right.

And so I lean down and plant a kiss over the highest part of the mound, which represents _only_ _the_ most desireable, nibble-able, cream-inducing part of Tony's cock- the ridge, the rings of Saturn surrounding the head ... which I imagine as the moon to it's sun ... ahh, bollocks. Concentrate, arsehole! I plant a second and third kiss, then another further down- nestling my face into the small orbs underneath. Yes, I have for a long while now had a particular lurid fascination with balls ... which I immediately satisfy by cupping them in one hand.

_Wow_. I mean ... _wow_. I absolutely cannot believe ...

They feel warm and solid, weightier than I'd imagined ... perfect. I lean further and open my mouth to pull gently at them, even if it's through the material, even if Tony is right now watching.

From his mouth there is a sound ... is it? Yes. A small breathy laugh, a giggle, almost. Is Tony _ticklish _?

I look. He's got that annoying self satisfied grin.

"What?" I inquire.

"Nothing. Proceed."

I blink.

"You'd just better not be laughing at me, mate."

"Nothing of the kind, Max. It's just that I always sort of knew boys wouldn't skip out on testicles like girls always do. So much potential there."

"Yes, we loathe wasted potential."

I drop back down, wondering exactly how much thought Tony has put into boys and testicles, and take them completely inward this time, in tandem, applying pressure, to which he reacts immediately, with a muted half-moan.

The sheer, unadulterated glee that I feel at this moment at the knowledge that I, alone have actually caused Tony to moan, causes me to stop and look up at him, just to be certain I wasn't imagining it, because in so many ways it's too fucking good to be true, isn't it? But this turns out to sort of be a mistake, as he seems embarrassed to have been caught reacting ... which is absolutely brilliant, and which explains this:

"What, are you gonna fucking suck through the pants all night?"

I laugh and lay a palm flat over the center of the mound, swirling it in a slow, firm circle as I talk, dropping my voice for effect ...

"Maybe. I mean ... you obviously like it."

... which puts an immediate end to the discussion.

I don't look up at him, I'm not that cruel, and say nothing further ... when what I _really_ want to tell him is just how magnificent he looks in these form fitting unders, which just happen to be my all time favorite type: white, cotton, and going part-way down the thigh. _Wicked._

The reality though, is that I'm fantastically nervous, and so I suppose perhaps I'm buying time before The Reveal, although yes, it is fun, and sexy as all living fuck, caressing him and flicking my tongue at him in this teasing manner. Has Tony never been teased before? Most likely he's just used to being in charge and having things his way, in the bedroom and otherwise, and here he finds himself laid out, vulnerable, essentially prey.

_Fuck_.

With that thought, I lean up, kiss the small bumps of his abs, press my tongue into his navel, and pull ever so slowly on the waistband, mouth following as I do, until there is just me, a tangle of dark curls, and the tip of one hard cock immediately adjacent.

Okay, steady yourself ... take a breath ... keep sliding 'em down, all the way to the ankles and past, the whole while staring, staring ...

Tony's ...

cock ...

Tony's _naked_ _motherfucking cock _...

_Beautiful!_ Perfectly formed! Fat. Wicked! We're talking, hello! Emergency! I'm putting that in my mouth,_ right now_.

Wait! Wait! Savor the moment, remember? Make love. This is a _teaching_ exercise, after all.

I clear my throat. I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes in their sockets.

"Um, Tone."

"Ya, mate?"

"I know you already know this, but ... you gotta beautiful package."

He smirks.

"Yep."

I climb up and move myself close, inspecting, admiring.

"So right about now I sorta need you to start paying attention. Okay?"

He nods.

I dive.

* * *

Round about the third, or is it the thirtieth lap round and over the tip and back again, I swear I can see steam rising off his chest, but mostly it's when I revisit the aforementioned orbs that he twists himself especially into the mattress, fists clenching, those gigantic blue eyes either gripped shut or swelling in his head, the whole while gasping, half-laughing, muttering, cursing in a near shriek, so that I am caused several times to have to smother him with my own pillow lest he wake up the building. I gather girls have simply avoided this area entirely, for Tony is obviously crazy-delirious-ecstatic at this apparently brand new sensation- that of a mouth intent on educating a very straight boy ... perhaps in fact, on driving home the message that boys are an _awful_ nice alternative that you might actually want to consider for real ... not just a one-off, not just the boredom-induced use of your gay friend's sorely deprived mouth ... that you might perhaps be encouraged to make the genuine and very happy _leap_ to the other side (where, yes, I admit, I will be waiting).

Failing all else, it's certainly _new_. Not boring.

* * *

Tony is very close. It certainly hasn't taken long, though it's not like he's been granted a moment's rest. Okay, I _tried_ not to ravish him, I really did. It's not like I want him feeling _attacked_, but it isn't like he's fighting me, either. Still, I will slow down now, partly because my neck hurts, jaw is aching, and I'm getting that tingle in my gums from extensive suction.

Mostly though, I'm going to slow down because we're reached the final lesson. A boy excited as this, who would not right now be able to quote you his own name, is best taken across the threshold in the most delicate and careful manner possible, for he is in that foggy, floaty head-state in which penis and brain are one; a newborn, vulnerable, never more impressionable. Meaning the method with which you _bring him there_ will dictate whether this entire experience is, to him, something routine, or spectacular; same-old, might-as-well-have-been-a-girl, or blisteringly ethereal. Do you want angels fluttering around his head, or the feeling that he might as well have beat off to porn?

I lean up and momentarily survey the scene. He is, I'm happy to report, a total mess, which is especially amazing considering that Tony is nothing if not impeccably groomed and controlled. Right now by contrast, he is damp, flushed, naked, and overall hanging by the skin of his bloody teeth. A more breathtaking, sizzling hot sight I don't believe I've seen.

"What the fuck are you lookin' at?" He spits between gasping pants, stressed. "Why'd you stop?"

I climb up and brush my lips against his.

"Lesson number one: _Savor_."

"Just blow me, already, wanker."

I laugh.

"Maybe I'm enjoying this. Maybe I don't want it to end just yet."

"Who the fuck cares what _you_ want? This is about what _I_ want."

I grin into his neck.

"Tony, I think it's generally understood that the one with the dick in his mouth is the one in charge."

He grins back.

"So what are you waiting for? Put that dick back in your mouth, poofboy."

I laugh. We both do.

"And don't take it out again until I finish."

Christ, even in jest, this statement is ... but I'm not done fucking with him. I slither my lips down to his left nipple and speak earnestly.

"Well ... actually, I'm not sure what you were expecting Tone, but contrary to what you may've heard, most of us don't swallow- me included. It's disgusting. We generally finish by hand."

After a beat, I look up. His mouth has swung wide open.

"Are you ... are you fucking _serious ?"_

I ignore him and drag my tongue across his navel.

"I want my money back, then."

I laugh.

"Oh ya?" I ask, lathering his abs, his hip bones, "Why don't you wait til the end before you decide?"

I grasp the base and slither downward, dipping my tongue into the slit from which there exists the most incredible and delectable and exciting thing in the world: a small pool of pre-come, _Tony's_ pre-come ... ... I mean, how is it that I'm actually doing this? Tasting him for real? Am I _tripping _?

_Who cares_ ! Just ... I lick my lips, which for the record are trembling, and carefully pull him inward, slow and deep, far as it will go, immediately working on a rhythm which I know from experience is an absolute brain-scrambler ... sucking softly on descent, then harder on retreat; soft on entry, hard on retreat, swiveling my head and delicately swirling my tongue.

Sure enough, he's writhing like a jellyfish, cussing and burying his face in the pillow.

After two seething minutes, I pull completely off, intent on trying out the torture Jake visited on me those times: exhalation. Sure enough, soft, carefully placed warm bits of breath combined with the lightest whisper stroke leave Tony a squirming, jibbering, blathering mess, barely capable of conveying even single syllable words.

"... _fu_ ... _ck_ ..."

No question, he's on the precipice, which is why I choose this moment to drop below and revisit those beautiful, magical orbs, betting that no matter how insane in may drive him, it's incapable of making him come ... or at least, I don't think it will ... but then one can't know for sure ...

It strikes me that Tony thinks what we're doing is his little experiment, when in reality it's me doing the experimenting.

I take the small globes, one after another, sucking them into my open mouth, and on contact, he dances around like he's been plugged in, to the point where I have to hold his legs in place with both hands. It takes two pillows now, to muffle his wailings which, if you can imagine, have just shot up by an octave.

Finally I pull off and away, allowing us both a moment's rest, before returning to finalize things ...

I create a flat plane with my tongue, with which I apply a straight, wet, wide line upward, over the veins, along the seam, and back again, momentarily ignoring the tip, before returning to engulph each orb ... then the slow return trip up the shaft, higher now this time ... then back to the orbs ... then the return trip upward ... to the point where he is pouring sweat and pleading with me ... which is when I give in and go for the kill: sucking the entire head fully inward, one hand caressing below, the other stroking and twisting firm and smooth. And here we go ...

In split seconds his body goes rigid, back arches and hips lurch. I glance up to see that the pillows have dropped to the floor. I throw out an emergency hand and clamp it tight over his mouth exactly as it sucks in that last giant gulp of air ... followed by a long strangled exhalation ... a gorgeous, incredibly sexy shuddering cry as his body jolts, quaking over and over ... emptying itself into me.

Wow.

_Wow!_

WOW!

_SO_ _bloody hot ! !_

I can't believe it, I absolutely _cannot _fucking believe it. I'm so caught up in the magic and wonder and confusion and arousal of the moment that I can't bring myself to pull off- I continue nursing the still-firm flesh for a good minute, until he finally begins to soften.

I lean back in a crouch, astonished, truly overwhelmed, as if I haven't been here all along, at what has just occurred, at what I've just _caused_. Tony has obviously come as as hard as he maybe ever has, and he looks so insanely beautiful, so completely spent, so thoroughly, fantastically, sensually _wasted_, I can barely stand it. This _so_ wasn't supposed to happen, ever in my life time, like, _not_ _ever_, do you understand? I'm tingling, giddy, floating, in utter disbelief ... There are I swear magical strobing electric currents swirling about, circling round and between us, filling the room.

Yes, I'm afraid I may be in love.

(It's happened to me over less ...)

The intense drive I feel to hold him at this moment in fact, the desire to cuddle up to him is nearly overpowering ... my heart, my brain, every corpuscle positively _screams_ to connect with him right now, to make meaningful contact, it's just so unnatural not to, however, of course ... I don't dare. What's going on in my mind and soul vs Tony's are I'm sure two very different things.

Between soft gasping pants, he speaks in half-mocking tone.

"'We generally finish by hand'" He laughs wearily. "Fucking liar!"

I laugh with him.

He then proceeds to flash me the most dazzling eyes-closed smile, and positively gushes.

"Max, that was fucking ... absolutely balls out _titanic_."

I beam with pride.

"Seriously. Let's just say I now _own your mouth_ and I'm gonna rent it out, first thing. I'm your bloody _pimp_."

We laugh.

He opens his eyes finally and looks up at me. The blue looks clearer and ... just ... _cleaner_, more intense, more vibrant, than maybe I've ever seen it. I swear it's true.

"I'm not kidding mate, that was without question the best blow job I've ever had."

My grin is miles wide, _eons_.

"_Really? Seriously?_"

"Come on, man, you almost killed me there."

We laugh.

"So it's true," he continues, "let it be known - it really does take a man."

We laugh more.

I rest a hand on his thigh. I allow myself that one prize, at least.

"Maybe," I offer with a grin, "but the main question is, did you _learn_ anything? Am I a good teacher?"

"Well, I think I just learned how much I've been missing all these years. Seriously. How lame they all were by comparison."

I flush.

God almighty ... even if, yes, it wasn't meant that way ... it's about the most romantic thing that has ever hit my two ears.

He grins sly.

"Maybe tomorrow you'll let _me_ try ?"

I finger the silky edge of the blanket. Before I realize it, it's come out of my mouth.

"You don't have to, Tone."

"Huh?"

I look up.

"This can be a no-recipro deal. It's alright. I won't hold you to it."

"Come on, mate."

"No, I'm serious. I enjoyed what we just did. You enjoyed it. We don't need to go beyond that. Plus I'm betting by tomorrow morning this whole thing will-"

"-Don't be such a pussy! This was my idea to begin with, remember? I _said_ I wanted to try it and I _will_."

I'm not trying to wuss out. Of course I'd love to explore further with Tony, it's just that at the moment I'm in that foggy afterglow that makes it nearly impossible to see or think straight. What we just did feels so perfect I guess I want to seal it in an airtight container for safe keeping. I don't wanna mess with it. Also I'm afraid to relax into the idea of it happening, only to have him wake up and ...

Still, though ... He seems absolutely dead serious. And I know him damned well- when he's determined to do something he bloody well makes it happen. So ... do I really wanna stop him for real ?

"You're absolutely dead sure?" I ask.

"Max, what part of 'yes, ya _twat _' don't you understand, arsehole?"

"Okay, okay", I laugh, "if you _insist_."

"Christ," he grins, "are you a _gay_ man or _aren't_ you?"

I laugh.

"Yes. Completely and utterly."

And thank jesus almighty for that. I'm so happy at the moment I'm a little frightened, but manage to keep my face mostly in check. I untangle myself from between his legs and before crawling under my own blankets, I turn at the last second- it can't be helped- and peck him on the lips; a quick goodnight kiss which, once again, doesn't cause him to flinch.

Miracles never cease.

* * *

**_(Remember ... if you're interested to read further, the story continues with chapter 2 ...)_**


	2. Chapter 2

Unsurprisingly, I find it impossible to sleep, even after I sneak out to the bathroom to relieve the raging, Tony-induced beast in my underwear. Too bloody _wired_. I run it all over in my head, bit by bit, second by second, until at last weariness overtakes me and I get maybe 2 hours shut-eye.

When I awaken for good, he's not there, and for some stupid goddam reason this upsets me and opens the door in my brain to a litany of insecurity-driven naggings, all of which quickly puts me in a very foul mood. I feel a desperation to see what sort of mood he's in this morning; how he'll treat me. What if he _did_ wake up ashamed? Embarrassed? Maybe chalking it all up to drink and horniness? Worst of all, what if he pretends nothing happened? Yes. That's Tony. How many times in his life has he probably bagged a girl, then completely ignored her, starting the very next morning? I can easily see him doing the same and in fact, walking around arm in arm with Michelle all day ... My stomach lurches at the thought. I will want to smash her face in.

Goddamit. Why did I _do_ this to myself? _Why_ did I let myself fall into this trap? Won't it feel just so fucking _shitty_ to know, to have it confirmed, that I _was_ used, that it _was_ all a big joke, a literal experiment; that he tricked me, the lonely gay boy, the only one in the group, into successfully sucking him off. Maybe he will even brag about it. Turn it around so that it was _me_ chasing _him_.

Bastard. What an arsehole I am! Idiot! What did you expect! He's straight! And he's an arsehole! I know it, I know he's going to ignore me, I can feel it in my bones, the distance between us this morning. I slump out of bed and hit the showers which, mercifully, are empty. It's 8:45- hopefully I've missed breakfast and can hide in my room all day. I'll claim to be sick- that's it. Easy! Bad stomach. In fact maybe they'll let me fly home on my own, today. I'm certainly not spending another night sleeping in the same room with him.

Still, hunger, and morbid curiosity overtake me, and I make my way to the mess hall, eyes downcast. If he's here, I don't want to know.

I grab a tray and mope along, collecting an apple and a cup of tea. That will do. I turn, wondering if I should just head back to my room, but then if he's not _here_, he'll be _there_. Ugh. Terrific. Fucking trapped.

Out of the corner of my eye I spy something. I turn, and it's Tony standing and waving to me with a certain level of enthusiasm. What is this about, then?

I approach, tentative. Across the table from him sit Chris and Sid. I look round. Interesting to note that Michelle is seated at the furthest table away, with Jal and Anwar.

"Maxxie-boy!" Tony calls, with a giant friendly smile. "Sit here", he says, pointing to the empty space beside him.

Okay, this ... this seems ... okay. So far. Maybe. I push the thought from my mind that perhaps Tony was saving this particular seat for me. Even if that's true, it's not necessarily a good thing.

"Max", Chris and Sid offer with a nod. Everyone looks at bit worse for wear. I nod back and place myself next to Tony, still quite unsure.

"Good morning, Maxwell," Tony says to me formally, smiling beautifully, with no hint of sarcasm, "how are we, then, on this fine cold Russian winter morn?"

"Rough night, mate?" Chris asks me, with a grin.

"Huh?" I respond.

He and Sid chuckle.

My heart plummets. Has he gone ahead and bloody well told them already? Am I to now be the object of scorn and derision for being Tony's latest easy conquest ? Is Sid, in particular, who as everyone knows is in love with Michelle, especially disgusted with me?

"Shut up, you wankers", snaps Tony. "Maxxie got lucky with a local last night, unlike you tossers, so leave him the fuck alone."

"Ya, I _thought_ I _heard_ something round about 4am," Chris laughs.

He and Sid chuckle further.

Well, it certainly wasn't _me_, I want to say.

"Tall, dark and _very_ handsome lad," Tony offers.

"What, you were _there _?" Sid asks, incredulous.

"No," I blurt quickly. "Tony um ... I introduced my, um, _date_, and Tony immediately made himself scarce."

"Like a perfect gentleman," he adds. "Went and had a nice ol' wank in the loo."

Chris, Sid and Tony laugh.

"So who was the lucky lad?" I'm asked. By who?

By Tony.

"Um, just a ... a guy I met at the little, um ... the little pub."

"Handsome lad, though. Dead handsome." He confirms, grinning at me with a half wink. "So was he any good?"

I take a breath and relax for the first time, and smile back at him. He's not going to be a dick after all. Praise be to the fucking gods. Praise be, even to Anwar's god.

"_Yes_."

* * *

To my great joy and relief, to my pride, even, Tony basically doesn't leave my side all day. Also, he says barely a word to Michelle, nor she to him, and in fact, they stay miles apart. They surely do appear to be breaking up. I admit, this does not make me sad.

Tony is being nicer to me than he ever has- a perfect gentleman, indeed. It's surreal. For example, at one point, when we are all being shuttled into multiple minivans in order to visit a museum of Russian agriculture or some such nightmare, Tony stays back with me when the only remaining seat in the second van is next to Anwar. This means, it turns out, that he and I are the sole occupants of the third van, which he immediately takes advantage of by pulling us into the back row where he promptly and without warning lays one on me good and fierce.

"Jesus, Tone," I mutter into his mouth.

"Shut up," he whispers, and does it yet again. All I can think of is 1) _Wow_. 2) How good he smells first thing in the morning, 3) How beautiful and full and soft and ridiculously red his lips are, 4) How much I'm loving the way he's pulling on my lower lip, 5) How generally talented he is at Frenching, 6) That the driver of the van can undoubtedly _see_ us in his mirror, and 7) Can anyone else? Before I remember that we're last in line, so no.

As we approach the building, Tony pulls back from this fantastic and thorough snogging, lets his hand brush against my crotch, and whispers to me.

"Let's not wait til tonite, ya?"

I squint, still breathless.

_Huh ? _

At this moment the van pulls up to the curb and he jumps out and begins striding confidently toward the building.

I haven't budged, mouth still hung open, trying to take in the implications of what he's just said.

He stops and turns and shouts back at me, grinning.

"Ya comin', Max?"

* * *

I approach the huddle, wary of, let's see, Anwar, Michelle, and even Sid, now, due to my paranoia that the latter two will _find out._ Also Tony. What exactly is on his mind? What did he _mean_ back there ? And do I like this idea he obviously hinted at, or don't I? Why am I so fucking _afraid_ about this, anyway? I'm not Tony, that's why! He just does what he wants and never gives a single toss. Whatever he's made of, I'm not.

The thing is, though ... and why haven't I even considered this til now ... how do I even know he and 'chelle are going to split up? Shouldn't I, as her friend, have the decency to at least wait and fucking _see_, and then and only then start messing around with her boyfriend (if he's even still interested by then)?

See ... 'even still' ... ugh, those two words ... they just don't sit well. I don't like them one bit. Yes, I can get caught up in this shit with Tony and project all sorts of romantic bollocks onto the situation (as I pretty much already have) but who am I kidding? He's straight. He and I have no real future outside of friendship. He will try out on me what to him are new things, out of sheer curiosity, and then the experiment will be overwith. And I can either engage him in the meantime... or always wonder.

I glance at him. It's 9:30 in the morning, I know for a fact that he's gotten no more than 2 hours' sleep, it's freezing fucking cold out, he's watching our fat middle aged Russian guide drone on about something ... and the bastard looks alert, lively, and no kidding, about as fresh and beautiful as can be. Probably the one universal truth about Tony is that to know him is to be frustrated. Also, to pale in comparison. Firstly he really is among the best looking blokes I've ever seen. Secondly he possesses a certain level of what I'll call masculine energy and sex appeal, what I guess would be known as charisma, that you simply don't find all that much of in real life, or at least I haven't. And finally, the fucker is gifted with a level of intelligence, just naturally- certainly not through hard work, that allows him, has always allowed him to breeze through school with top honors. In short, he's uniquely talented, beautiful, and smart. Also dead sexy, what I now know to be very well endowed, and he's even a great kisser.

And, through some miracle, right now Tony actually wants me.

_Boyfriend? Who says you need a boyfriend? _

No, okay, maybe not as a boyfriend, and not even necessarily _me_, I guess, but I'm apparently a good enough representative of the male species, I mean he did say I was good looking and fit, to be considered for what is likely to be Tony's only ever 'walk on the wild side'.

I glance at Michelle, and the rationalizations continue to flow. If she and Tony are as good as kaput, it wouldn't be like I _caused_ it or anything. And if they aren't, though it certainly appears they are, then it's not like she's ever going to find out. Despite this mornings misgivings and paranoias, I'm fairly sure that Tony is far too macho to kiss a boy and tell, and _I'm_ certainly not going to. Truly, we can easily keep this our little Russian secret, and no one need be the wiser. Unless of course he and I become a couple for real ... which, okay ...

won't happen.

The thing is, Michelle has had him for a whole year now, during which, though she refuses to believe it, several others have as well. She is the top girl at school, the best looking one by far, grew up spoiled and rich, she never has and never will want for boyfriends. I, however, given the still very limited pool of gay males in my circle, have had to scramble and scrape for even one, and along the way have even twice been beaten to shit for drawing the wrong conclusions. She has no _idea_ what I go through on a daily basis in being an out queer in a still largely straight and hostile world. She meanwhile, will continue to enjoy the endless perks her tits and prettiness give her, until in a few years, she inevitably marries, and marries well.

This thought then rockets to my brain:

_She might even fucking marry Tony. _

Okay.

Decided.

They _aren't_ fucking married, goddamit. Not yet. And so, he is fair game. Period. And, Michelle won't find out anyway. No one will. Tony guaranteed it.

* * *

Inside, the group of us possess blanker and blanker stares. We are hearing, in barely passable broken English, about the history of a large, badly lit something-like 1926 Russian tractor. Scintillating. This seems to be a museum dedicated not so much to the history of agriculture, but to broken, rusted, dangerous looking and certainly ugly old machinery, which makes sense- it's not like any Bolshevik-era wheat fields are still around.

Seriously though, why did they feel for a single second that a bunch of English teenagers would give a toss? Why not a museum of dance? Why not bring us to a play? A concert? Art museum? A ballet? Some of us have even heard of Rudolph Nureyev.

Whatever. Typical. Do they ask us what the fuck we want, ever? What might give them the biggest bang for their educational buck? Ha! Do they seriously think any of us wanted to go to fucking Russia in the first place, particularly in January? Though as I hear Tony burst out laughing over something Sid muttered, in that certain gorgeous, full bodied way that he does, and then watch him successfully scramble to cover his tracks and in fact immediately follow up with a perfectly timed and reasonably intelligent question which clearly impresses both the interpreter and our teachers ... I know for sure I'm not sorry.

* * *

I give him credit. He waits a full hour before trying anything. Our interpreter, whose name by the way is something sounding like 'Treblinka', and who has clearly taken a shine to Tony as adult females invariably do, is lecturing us as to the intricate history of a 1937 hand plow some poor bastard had to drag behind an ox in order to fucking _eat_ ... when Tony whispers to me.

"_There's_ a door- hmm."

It's just that ambiguous as to puzzle the casual listener, but to my instantly quickening pulse, it can only mean one thing.

I look. The door he's talking about is clear on the other side of this very sizeable room, and who knows where it leads to, anyway. And it's not like we can walk off together in the middle of a lecture in front of everyone, so I ignore him, thinking, okay, at _some_ point we will maybe be granted a break from this tedium, and then ... well, we'll see. It's fucking risky as hell, so ... it's _nuts_, so ... I don't know.

_However_ ... My frisky mate Tony is nothing if not clever. Also, he cannot be confused with a lad who is accustomed to delaying his own gratification. He clears his throat, and, waiting for just the right moment, speaks.

"So sorry to interrupt," he says to our lecturer and teachers, just as polite and sincere as you like, "This is a fantastic museum. I'm really enjoying this, I think we all are, so much so that I think we perhaps might benefit from being allowed to wander through this amazing place on our own, like we do in England. We can cover a lot more ground that way, in a shorter time, and ask our knowledgeable interpreter lady along the way when we have questions, which I'm sure we all will."

Everyone's eyes shift from Tony to our interpreter and teachers. Tom the blowhard starts to say something in protest, however is immediately overruled by Treblinka, who is smiling adoringly at Tony. It's obvious had anyone else asked for a break from protocol, it would not have been granted.

It's amazing, truly, is it not? The benefits of charisma, and craftiness: both allow you, among other things, to convince someone who you've just in a way insulted, that in fact you've paid them a compliment.

* * *

Everyone splits off into small groups. Sid, always Tony's little puppydog, in fact begins to trail behind him as he makes a near-immediate beeline for said door. Because of this, I'm not sure what to do- follow along behind Sid? What would be the point of that? Stay where I am and eventually make my way over? Stand here and not move a muscle because this whole thing is a really _really_ bad idea anyway? How should I know? I'm nervous as christ and my heart is absolutely hammering away in my chest.

Tony immediately addresses the issue.

"Sidney, I'm busy right now. Lose yourself, please."

"You just said you were gonna wander-" Sid asks, confused.

"-Go away, please."

It's awful, really, the way he treats him; the way he's _always_ treated him- the bloke who is supposed to be his best friend. They have the strangest relationship of any two people I know, outside of my parents, however the unbalanced/unfair dynamic somehow apparently works for them; Sid seems to expect it, and stranger still, seems even not even to mind. He in fact simply shrugs his shoulders and heads off to catch up with Chris.

I hope some day to ask Tony about it. I like the idea of he and I becoming close enough one day as to delve into such things, however right now it's not exactly top of my list.

* * *

I look. Tony peruses the room. The teachers and interpreter are facing away, and everyone but he and I have wandered off. He gives me a quick glance, then heads off and tries the door. It opens, he quickly passes through it without looking back, and it closes. I wait a beat, more than a beat, half expecting him to come back through at the behest of some beefy Russian museum security guard, but there don't seem to be any here at all, which I guess makes sense- who is going to try to steal a 3000 pound rusted antique plow?

Fuck, my nerves have definitely kicked in. I wander in the general direction of the door, too frightened to do anything that might draw attention but naturally when I get there and am about to grab the door handle, Angie calls to me.

"Maxxie, where are you going?"

I jump slightly.

"Um, _nowhere_. I just, um ... need to, um, use the loo."

Treblinka turns and instructs me on the location of same, pointing down the opposite hallway. I thank her, hestitate, fidgeting, looking down at my nails, praying they will all wander off themselves in another minute, but just as well they immediately turn away again. In an instant, I shakily twist the knob and, quiet as possible, open it, take a few steps, and then shut the bloody door behind me.

Where I am is a dimly lit windy dank staircase. I squint, and before my eyes can focus, Tony is there, pressing me into the wall, mashing his mouth into mine like a nymphomaniac on death row. Christ, I mean, you would swear he was desperate, you would swear he hasn't had any in decades.

And fuck, if you thought there was a chance you might not fall under the spell of such a kiss, _forget it._ It's like being mauled, only so throughly and expertly that it's not a means to an end, it's it's own damn end. In other words, like everything else about him, kissing Tony is intoxicating and slightly maddening.

He pulls off, just as suddenly as he'd clamped on, yanks on my hand and begins hurriedly leading me down the staircase.

Christ. I'm, I'm terrified! Surely he can feel my hand shaking.

"W-where are we going?" I ask, my voice, embarrassingly enough, coming out timid and high pitched.

"We're going to give you head," is his ever-confident reply.

My stomach lurches.

God ... _fuck ..._ I mean ... I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the million and one reasons we really _really_ shouldn't do this. It's a nice idea, great on paper, honestly, but you can't seriously _mean_ it, not when we're paying for a hotel room we are going to be returning to shortly? Not when we could get into _so_ much trouble for something this fucked up, with the school, with Michelle, with, I mean, who _knows_ who uses the bloody stairways, this hallway. I've read the Russians aren't exactly pro-gay, in fact in many areas of the country they are still routinely raiding gay bars and arresting patrons. Fuck, in Saudi Arabia, they still have public _hangings_ for queers-

"-In here." Tony whips open a door to what appears to be a medium sized even more dimly lit closet and smiles in that unbearably sexy manner.

I hesitate ... "Tony-" only to be pushed, bodily, into the small space, immediately after which, he shuts the door behind us.

"Now," he says, he's practically rubbing his hands together, "let's see what I retained from my one lesson."

"_Tony_."

"_What _?"

"Come on, this is probably not a good idea, right? I mean, what is somebody finds us?"

"They won't." He smiles cheekily, already undoing my belt and fingering the trouser top button. "Especially if we're quick about it."

"But-"

"_Max_," he insists, popping open each fly button, "seriously, will you stop being such a wuss? This won't take 5 minutes. Nobody's gonna come lookin' for us in that short a space of time, right?"

With that, my trousers are yanked open, and down. He leans in for the return of the mouth-clamp and cups my cock between two hands.

_Holy bleeding shit_.

He pulls off, whispers into my mouth, "let's see what this big boy tastes like," ... and then I'm looking at the top of his head.

Right away, there's something wrong; I'm squirming, and not in a good way.

"_Ouch! Gah! _Tony!" I push back against him so that he nearly falls over backwards.

"_What _?"

"_Fuck_, you gotta ... you gotta clear your _teeth_ for fuck's sake!"

He examines my cock as if the problem is with _it_. Tony isn't used to criticism.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Well ... no. I have no idea how in fuck to do that."

I sigh. _Straight guys._

"Okay, it's, it's ... hard to explain. The inside of your cheeks is, like, all fleshy, right? Just sorta curve it under your teeth- pull it under as you suck. Have you never been scraped by a tooth before?"

He thinks a beat.

"Don't remember."

"What do you mean you don't remember? It's not something you tend to forget."

"Dunno," he shrugs, semi-embarrassed, "maybe."

Has he really been blown that much that they all run together?

He returns for a second shot, and almost immediately gets the hang of the cheek-tooth thing, only to run headlong into Classic Novice Problem Number Two: oversuction.

"_Ouch_ ... wait, wait."

He pulls off, exasperated.

"_Now what ?_"

I explain between pants.

"You just, you just gotta go a little easier, Tone. I mean I appreciate the effort n all, but a tad less pressure would be nice."

"Okay, okay ... _sheesh_."

"Just, just ... the main thing is, pay attention, _listen_, you'll know what works by my reaction. I'm sure it's the same way with girls- _shit _!"

Yes, he's figured it out ... a few stumbles here and there, but ... it's all come together beautifully. I glance quickly, and ... my god ... there it is in full color: my cock disappearing past Tony's ruby red lips. I tell you, when my brain connects the physical sensation I am right now experiencing, with the view that I have out my eyes, it sends a fucking electric jolt straight through me. Truly the universe is an absolutely magnificent, glorious, magical, and stupendously amazing place, is it not? At least, in moments like this ... but then, I don't exactly have any other moments to compare this to, do I?

It's not long. A minute? Two? It's so quick and thunderous, I'm talking cataclysmically earth shattering, that I'm half way into it before I realize - and before I have time to warn him, and plus we haven't exactly discussed this. Did Tony want me to warn him?

Too late. My head rears back into the wall, hard enough to bruise I will later discover, and I gasp and cough and am nearly upended ... what took such a short time to arrive is taking a rather long-ish while to end. There is something about sex with Tony that apparently magnifies my sperm count by about a million, and somewhere in the middle of it all, when I can pry open my eyes, I spy him down there looking flustered and not at all pleased..

"_Fuck's sake, do you HAVE to _... ? !"

He's in turmoil, simultanerously wiping his face on his sleeve, wiping something off his sweater, wiping his hands on his trousers, and continuously spitting.

Oops.

"_Tissue_ ?" he snaps.

"Um, sorry ... I-I don't have any."

He flies up off his knees.

"We can clean you up in the loo," I offer, red-faced, eyeing the sizeable stain in the middle of his navy blue sweater.

"Fuck's _sake_-" He spits a final time on the floor, angrily, "couldn't you fucking ...!"

"I'm sorry."

I flush. God. _So_ not how I would have wanted this to end. I feel like such a prat, a huge embarrassment, somehow a complete failure and amateur.

"It-it came on really fast," I blather, "and by the time I realized it, it was too late. I don't have much control in general." Let alone ...

"Do you _always_ come like that, though ?"

"Like what?"

He stops and looks at me like I'm nuts, then his face softens and he erupts in a belly laugh.

"Like the fucking Titanic, mate, like FIVE fucking Titanics!"

I flush further.

"No," I admit.

"No?"

"_No_."

He squints, "Okay, but ..." not getting it at first, "... Well, so ..." before his face splits into a wide, generous grin. "So what you're saying is, this is me?"

"You?"

"Ya, meaning, you're comin' like gangbusters cuz of _me_."

Great. How did I get to the point of letting something on like _this_ ? It's not like I can hide now.

I take a breath.

"Umm ..."

His smile is huge, wide, and smug as all get out. He leans in and kisses me.

"Okay, then I guess I can't exactly mind."

"Mind?"

"Mind you jizzin' all over me. More proof I _am_ the hottest shit going."

"Fuck off," I laugh, and kiss him back.

* * *

We're walking down the hallway- well, he's walking, truth be told, I'm positively _levitating _and am once again visited with the gargantuan desire to reach out and make contact; this time, in the form of simple hand holding. How annoying and girly can I be? And yet, I can't make the feeling go away.

"So you fancy me, then."

Fuck.

"Tony, I ..."

"'Salright. Don't be embarrassed. Everyone does."

I laugh.

"You're such a prick."

He shrugs.

"It's just a simple fact."

I look at him.

"You're a good looking bloke. But you turn people off, too. Hugely. You can be a real bastard."

"Thanks."

"It's true."

He thinks a moment.

"I know."

I stop.

"So ... why?"

He shrugs again.

"Dunno. People seem to expect it. They're disappointed if I don't act like a prick."

"But ... why do you wanna be that way, though? Who _cares_ if people expect it."

He waits a beat before answering, then grins wickedly.

"Keeps things lively. Keeps people on their toes. Keeps _me_ on my toes."

"Christ. What, so, do you have A.D.D. or something?"

He looks insulted.

"_No_ I don't fuckin' have A.D.D. What I _have_ is a ridiculously high IQ combined with an over-developed sense of mischief-"

"-Can't argue with you there-"

"-But the _last_ thing I feel like talking about right now Max, is my perceived personality flaws, okay? Christ. How about some praise for my extraordinary cocksucking _prowess_?"

I bust out laughing.

"Oh my god, you arsehole. Number one, if you've forgotten, you scraped the shit out of me with your teeth! You practically drew blood! _Huge_ blunder, mate!"

"Okay, ya, at _first_-"

"-_Then_ you sucked so hard my head almost caved in- ouch !"

"Okay, _okay_, but-"

"-_Then_ you _spat_ and complained and whined and bitched !"

"Okay! But in _between_ I was fucking aces!"

I smile. I'm still in total disbelief over it all.

"Yes. You were. Eventually. You certainly got the hang of it."

He laughs. I don't at first, then realize what I've said.

We've reached the door.

"So again, I have to ask- this is pretty monumental for a straight boy. What did you think?"

He ponders a moment.

"Dunno. Strange as all fuck. _Really_ fucking strange."

"Okay. Strange _bad_, or strange ... okay, or maybe interesting?"

He nods.

"Interesting, definitely interesting. Fuckin' fascinating in fact. I feel like I could teach girls a few things right now."

I laugh.

He speaks earnestly.

"Thanks for lettin' me give it a go, Maxxie."

I smile.

"My pleasure, Tone."

He laughs, then looks down at his sweater.

"Fuck's sake. What the fuck am I gonna do about this?"

"Sorry. We didn't discuss warnings. And ... it sorta came over me like a hurricane."

He smiles smugly again.

"I _am_ incredible."

"Fuck off. Just ... you go first- the loo's down the hallway on the left, I'll sprint ahead and catch up with the others, then you can join us all casual and shit, with a big wet spot on your sweater."

He fingers the spot.

"Will this shit come out?" he asks

I smile.

"Will the come come out?"

"I'm serious Max, will it?"

"How should I know? I'm a swallower."

He makes a face.

"Fuck, _I'm_ not. That shit is _foul_."

"Whatever, ya wuss. Just run the spots under the tap and squeeze 'em out. Nobody'll know what they are."

He rests his hand on the door knob and looks back at me.

"I can't fucking believe I did it- I _actually_ sucked cock and made is spurt."

I laugh.

"You did." I look down shyly. I can't help but prod him a bit more. "So overall it was ...?"

"Um ... pretty fucking weird, being on the receiving end n all, but ... it was also sorta cool in a way." He smiles. "I guess I'm an honorary poof, now."

I nod and smile.

"Right."

As he pushes against the door and begins walking through it, he turns and says over his shoulder, all non chalant ...

"All that's left now is the bum thing. Never done that before."

The door closes in my face, and it's left for me to stand here stunned ... blinking ... arguing with myself ...

_... What ... ? _

_What the fuck did he just say ?_

He didn't just _say_ what I thought he did, _did_ he?

He was half turned, _surely_ _I heard wrong_ ... ?

I break out into a cold sweat.

* * *

**_(Please stay tuned ... chapter 3 is on it's way.) In the meantime, if you've bothered to read this far ... PLEASE take a moment to review ! It is GREATLY appreciated ! Many thanks !_**


	3. Chapter 3

Wandering dazedly through the museum with the others, I'm quite obviously distracted.

"Ya seein' that bloke again tonite ?" I hear some far off voice say, completely unaware it's directed at me.

"Max!"

I whip my head around.

"Huh ?"

Chris laughs.

"I _said_ are you seeing your special Russian _friend_ again tonite ? The good looking one ?"

I squint.

"Who ?"

Of all people, Michelle then approaches. I freeze solid.

"Sorry you've had to room with him, Maxxie. Have you even gotten a wink of sleep?"

I look at her, astonished.

"_What_ ?"

"The bloody _snoring, _or haven't you noticed ? Maybe you're a heavy sleeper."

I'm trying with great difficulty to maintain whatever semblence of a normal expression is hopefully right this second inhabiting my face.

"Um, um, ya ... um, um, _no_, I, I haven't noticed."

She squints.

"Are you okay, Maxxie? What's wrong?"

"_Nothing_", I say too quickly. "Um, I just ... I think I'm coming down with something, maybe."

"Well stay the fuck away from _me_," cracks Jal.

Michelle reaches and presses her hand against my forehead.

"You're warm, and ... _damp_. Are you sweating ?"

God, this is excruciating. I have to force myself not to blurt _"Michelle your boyfriend just blew me !"_

"Um, maybe ... I-I don't know."

"_Justafewsecondsago !_"

"You always looks so healthy and tanned, Maxxie. Right now, seriously, you're white as a ghost. I'm a bit worried."

For fuck's sake, _please_ don't be nice to me. _Please_.

"Maybe go back to the hotel," she continues, tenderly cupping my cheek, "and have a lay down, ya ?"

I gulp. I clear my throat.

"Maybe," I respond weakly, my whole being positively flooded with guilt.

She trots off to catch up with Jal when I hear a voice ... which turns out to be my own, calling her back. What the ? For fuck's sake, I _don't want to_ _speak with Michelle at_ _all_, I don't wanna even _look_ at her, and yet ... out it comes.

"Are you and Tony ... are you and Tony ... um, are Tony and you ... "

"What, Maxxie ?"

"Um ..."

"What is it ? What has he said ? Spit it out."

Oh god. I don't want to know the answer, I feel a genuine desperation at this moment to _not know the goddam answer. _

"Are you guys, like ...?"

"_What_ ? Splitting up ?"

Jesus, I'm shaking now, absolutely on a knife edge.

"Y-ya."

Her eyes narrow.

"_Why_ ? What did he say ?"

My brain fires off in one hundred directions. Oh god, _they're not splitting up._ It's so obvious ! Tony's known all along ! He's been _pretending all along_ in order to _use_ me-!

"-As far as I'm concerned, _yes_."

I gulp. I blink. My brain runs headlong into a tree ...

"What did you say ?"

"I said, yes, Maxxie." She nods. "We're splitting up."

A surge of unmitigated joy shoots through me.

She leans forward slightly and looks me dead in the eye.

"Tell me the truth. Did he have some slutty girl in the room with him last night? I thought I heard a noise that sounded like him."

Holy fuck.

"_No_," I say quickly. Not a slutty _girl_.

"'chelle," Jal pipes in, grabbing her by the elbow, "you don't _care_ anymore, remember? He's a fucking bastard and you're _finally_ through with him. That's what you said."

"I know," she says firmly. "I _am_, I was just ..." she sighs and looks back at me. "Will you do me a huge favor and sit next to him on the plane ride home, Maxxie ? I really don't ever wanna see him again, let alone be stuck in that seat for 6 fucking hours."

I blink. Wipe that grin off your face, boy.

"Um, okay, sure."

Yes, anything. I'm so inappropriately happy right now ... _any_thing.

She leans up and kisses me on the cheek.

"Thanks."

At this moment I spy _him_, the new found object of my every thought, need, and desire approaching from the opposite end of the room. Instantly I go all gooey. To my eyes in fact there appears to be a soft, radiantly warm glow emanating from him. It's all rather unnerving.

"Why don't you lay off my roommate," he cracks.

"Fuck off," Michelle responds.

"Seriously, 'chelle, in case you didn't know Maxxie is certifiably _gay_. He doesn't like girls."

"Will you _fuck off _? I _told_ you not to talk to me !" she snaps, and storms off with Jal.

At this point Treblinka, who has appeared out of nowhere, breaks into a seemingly spontaneous speech about wheat rationing during the Stalin era. We stand waiting patiently. During a pause, Tony adds:

"Yes. And isn't it believed that Stalin purposely witheld giant stocks of grain, approximately 800,000 tons, singlehandedly setting into motion the great famine of '32-'33 ?"

Once again, all eyes shift from Tony to our translator, whose expression is instantly transformed from calm, bored, even, to a definite healthy flush.

Her eyebrows raise slightly, before lowering again.

"Yes, that is absolutely correct, young man."

"Wanker," Michelle mutters out loud.

* * *

In the lineup for lunch in the museum's pathetic excuse for a cafeteria, Chris and Sid are behind me, with Tony ahead.

"So are you sick, Max ? " Chris asks.

"Sick ?"

"Ya, remember earlier when you said ... " Chris then turns to me, "What is wrong with you these days, mate ?" ... before his face splits into a huge grin and he guffaws. "Awww, _I_ know ! Max isn't sick. He's in _love_ ! It's that Russian bloke !"

"Are you gonna _defect _?" Sid cracks.

The two of them giggle and to my horror, tease me in a sing-songy tone.

"_Maxxie's in lo-ove_ !"

"_No I'm not !_" I snap, mortified, "fuck _off !_"

Tony stops dead, turns and examines me with interest, eyes on full beam, grin curious and bemused.

Oh god, I want to die.

"So who's the lucky lad ?" Sid asks.

"_Nobody !_" I snap again, my face turning three shades of purple, all while a fat cafeteria worker shovels slop onto my plate.

"Don't protest too much or anything, now Max," Chris laughs as we move towards the table.

Flustered, wanting so desperately _not_ to look at Tony, I look at Tony and force the words from my mouth, determined to speak with firmness and conviction, however in my flustered state, sound anything but.

"I'm _not_."

He doesn't respond. He just sits down opposite me, staring in that unnerving way that Tony does, scanning your brain, taking a wander round your pink, pansy mind.

* * *

Okay, in truth, if I'm forced to admit it, yes, I have unfortunately held a candle for Tony, off and on, for years, but ... it hardly counts, does it ? Not when it's been blown out a couple odd million times. How could it not when he can be such a motherfucker ?

The problem being, I'm more vulnerable than normal these days, having been worn down by an unfortunate series of unrequited mega-crushes. This combined with my being such a stupid bloody romantic makes it especially hard, when I get physical with someone I fancy, to have it not tap into that side of me. For Tony, fucking around without attachment is routine. _Sport_. By contrast, the few times I've done it, it's left me diminished and depressed. Yes, I'm a guy; yes, I want sex, I crave it massively, don't get me wrong, but I also _so_ wanna be in love. I can't help myself. I want, more than anything, to pour my heart out, to be held in a strong set of arms, to wake up and exchange slow, ridiculous smiles.

God I'm such a rotting twat.

So ... in acknowledging the differences between us, anyone can see I've entered dangerous territory. I may not actually be in love, but I know myself well: the seedling has been planted and any further nurturing of it is going to create problems.

_So_ ... in the interest of protecting myself, I should put on the brakes _now_, as far as any additional sexual explorations with Tony, right ? This physical embodiment of a dream, who has freely offered himself up to me and in fact strongly hinted that he wants more ?

* * *

At the table, Chris and Sid have thankfully moved on to safer topics (Russian beer, Russian porn stars). While I don't dare meet his gaze, somehow unnoticed by everyone is that Tony is continuously watching me, wordlessly transmitting a message that is palpable, a living breathing entity, a right bloody forcefield in fact, unmistakeable in it's sexual frankness and energy, and has just this one thing to say:

_I own you. _

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon I'm at war with myself, determined to douse the spark ignited within. I say nothing to him, and repeatedly place myself at a distance, but Tony keeps closing the gap, making sure I see that he's nearby and watching as I feign interest in some horrid farmworker sculpture or other.

The lack of any verbal exchange between us makes this little game we're playing twice as potent, of course. And god, how I now understand the key to Tony's success with women- he's relentless, but somehow subtley so. Despite the fact that you know he is a serial philanderer, this sensual stalking makes you feel that you are the only person in his entire world, the sole culmination of all of his earthly needs and desires. In other words, it's nothing if not crazy-flattering, dizzy-making, intoxicating as any drug.

After two solid hours of this, my resolve is all but shattered, and I come to the sobering admission that I want sex from him, very, very badly.

Which is the moment, of course, when he chooses to disappear.

"So ... pub ?" Sid asks, patting me on the back and causing me to leap a mile. "Sorry mate, didn't mean to scare you."

I attempt to gather my wits, and find, in answering him, that I'm near to panting.

"Huh ?"

"Pub, then ? Our lesson in ancient Russian farming techniques is sadly the last of the day."

I whip my head around.

"Is that what they said ?"

He laughs.

"Yes, Maxxie. Seriously mate, where is your head at today? Might be jet lag. I remember the first time I flew-"

"-Where's Tony ?" I blurt, like an stupid fucking arse.

He shrugs.

"Dunno. Wandered off someplace. Why ?"

"Is he, I mean ... are we _all_ going to the pub, then ?"

"Hey, is that where you met your Russian bloke ?"

"Who ? Er, um, ya, I think. So is everyone going ?"

He pats my shoulder.

"It's alright Max- you don't have to come. Just go back to the hotel. You don't look so hot."

* * *

Maddeningly, as we approach the group to await our van rides, Tony is not there. I have to stop myself from asking once again for his whereabouts. It only then occurs to me ... what exactly is he doing ? He wanted to ride over here with me bad enough that he purposely stayed back so we could smooch in private, and now that he's succeeded in making me want him, he's split without so much as a word. Is this another of his manipulative games ? Is it simply that he's now had me and so has lost interest ? So then why the hint about further doings ?

I climb into the van when it arrives, a mess: nervous, baffled, flustered, horny; tormented by thoughts of "the bum thing" until I'm nearly insane. Where the fuck _is_ he ? Has he changed his mind, then ? Was he fucking with me all along ?

I glance over at Michelle, who of course chose to ride in the same van, and have to stop myself from blurting "_so did he pull this shit with you, too ?_"

"You coming with us, Maxxie ?" Jal inquires.

"Um ... not sure."

"Well _I_ seriously need a drink."

"Max isn't feeling well, Jal," Michelle adds. "If you want, I could stay back with you at the hotel." She offers. "I could get you some tea with honey."

Fuck, must she _insist_ on being so bloody nice ?

"No, it's, it's okay. I'll be alright. I just need to rest, I think."

"Well are you sick, Max ..." Jal asks, exchanging glances with Michelle, who finishes her thought:

"... or in love ?"

They both burst out laughing.

Ya, with _your_ boyfriend, I want to say.

* * *

Back at the hotel, any notion I'd had that Tony would somehow be waiting for me in 'our' room vanishes when I open the door. So he really has gone out pubbing with the others. Did I _completely_ misread him ? Were all his stalkings and starings somehow a figment of my overactive, lust ridden imagination ? No- I can't believe that. It was unmistakeable, it was palpable, his eyes on me, let alone that sensual swagger as he stalked me through the building. Can I really be blamed then, for assuming he was very much up for it, in an immediate sort of way, absolutely ready to pounce when the moment struck ... and so ... why the delay ? What explains his sudden exit ? Or did he perhaps expect I would join the others at the pub ? But ... what would the point be in that, if he was so damned eager to try out "the bum thing" ?

What _is_ his plan, exactly ? _Has_ he been toying with me all along- riling me up for his own twisted, selfish amusement ? _Did the thought of my perhaps being even semi in love kill the whole thing off ?_

Wouldn't be a first, for that, now would it, Maxxie ?

I mope around, deflated, flustered, confused. Why can't even _this_ work, let alone a real relationship ? Is it me ? How did I get to be such a loser ? Why did I come to Russia at all ? _Why was I fucking born ! _

I plop down on the bed, hold my head in my hands and burst out crying.

* * *

At some point, after I've fallen into a miserable, fitful sleep, the door bursts open.

"You're not asleep are ya? It's fucking 10 o'clock!" Tony says cheerfully. Sid, Chris, and then Michelle and Jal and our teachers then pile in, all wanting to know how I'm feeling. Anwar apparently doesn't care.

"_Yes_, I was asleep." I sit up, pull Michelle's hand down from my forehead and accept the cup of hot tea. "I'm alright. I just gotta headache."

"Comes from living with Tony," she cracks.

"Fuck off," he snorts.

"You sure you're alright ?" Jal asks. "Cuz we could always call a-"

"-_No_, _Christ_, he's _fine,_" Tony shouts suddenly, physically pushing everyone out of the room. "Okay, _out_- go ... _go ! _Come _on _! This is _our_ room and Maxxie needs some rest. See ya !" Before slamming the door shut.

He then stands before me with that ready stance- hand on cocked hip, eyes sultry, and whispers.

"What ever shall we do now, Maxwell ?"

Jesus I could kill him.

"Where the fuck were you ? Why did you take off like that ?"

"Whaddayu mean ? Where do you think I went- to the _pub_. Where were _you _?"

"Obviously I came back here !" And all that that implies ...

He grins slow. His right hand slithers into his back pocket and his hip rocks slightly in place. If ever a motion defined "swagger", if ever a motion could set your bloody cock _alight_ ...

"You _are_ an eager lad, now aren't you ?" he says hoarsely.

I gulp, though still slightly annoyed- are we going to pretend _he's_ not the eager one ?

"Tony, I just don't get you-"

He moves closer still, so that the bewitching and tormenting bodily region I've come to know as the _Rectangle_ – the one defined by two hips, a pelvis, a zipper, and broad leather belt, is all but blinding me.

"Um ..." I stammer.

"What don't you get, Max ?"

I'm trying not to look, though it's _all_ _right there_.

"Why, um, why you took off like that."

"After saying what I said to you."

"Yes."

His voice drops low. He reaches and cups my jaw in his soft, soft palm. I raise my eyes. He's smiling down at me, steamy, knowing, half crooked, like fucking Zeus, like the fucking king of the alpha-gods.

"It's called a build up of tension." He runs his thumb over my lips. "_Sexual_ tension. Til you want it so bad you can't _see_ straight ... can't think about anything else." Oh god ... oh shit ... truly, _I am going to die right here. _I shut my eyes and instinctively lean forward, letting my tongue slip out to brush the edge of his thumb, which he reacts to by slipping it inward briefly, before pulling it out again, resulting in a most embarrassing wet _pop_ sound.

His eyes are steady and sure.

"I can give you something better than that."

OH fuck ! I stiffen solid; it's _instant_.

He moves away slightly, though the Rectangle is still in full, glorious view, pulls me up and kisses me hard and full on the mouth. Christ I'm shaking. I can't bear it another moment-_ I need to do him right this second. _

He breaks away suddenly and whispers into my face. "Go to the boiler room," matter of fact, like we do this every day, like I even know where that _is_. "Wait for me there."

Yes, _yes_. Anything. _Anything_.

I look at him. Jesus christ if he isn't glowing again, this demonically sensual haze that renders me weak and silly, all but hypnotized. My legs, my whole body feel wooden. When I finally manage to turn for the door he stops me.

"Supplies, Max."

I hesitate a moment before making the translation: "supplies" = lube and condoms. _Lube and condoms. Meaning, we're going to fuck. Tony is going to fuck me. Tony WANTS to fuck me. And I'm sure as all goddam hell not going to stop him. _

As I shakily crouch to my bag, he instructs me further.

"Out the door and take a right. Go all the way to the very end of the hall, then down the stairs on your left. Then just follow the noise, and the heat. Door's open."

Next I know, I'm gliding down the beautiful, blissful hallway of glory, it's never looked quite this way before, my brain a pile of mush, my pockets full of rubber and one small unopened tube of the good stuff.

* * *

Well, there is certain decibel level for sure, but somehow I'd missed the bit about the temperature, and he never mentioned the _smell_. Jesus, it reeks. This building used to be a jail, with something like 300 inhabitants, so the giant old ancient, decrepit looking boiler cranks and belches like crazy.

Okay, now what to do, other than pace, fret, and bite my fingernails ? It's not like this is any place to relax, (not that I could !) There is certainly nowhere to sit, or lay down for that matter, other than the rather grimy looking floor. It's not like you can breathe all that well down here either- hardly conducive to sex.

Sex. _I'm standing here waiting to have sex ... with Tony_.

Am I hallucinating ? When am I gonna wake up from this ?

I wander around fidgeting nervously, watching the workings of the oversized, greasy equipment but not really seeing it. How in fuck can I possibly focus ? Thankfully it's private down here, at least- we can make as much noise as we want without fear of discovery. In other words, Tony is about to find out Michelle ain't the only "screecher" in town.

I resume pacing. I hadn't thought of this before. (What am I saying, "before", there's been no "_before_"- he's just fucking sprung this on me today!) Tony is large, he's fucking 6 foot 4 and proportioned accordingly, while I am a mere 5' 7" with a very tight ass and I'm not talking my cheeks. Translation: this is going to hurt. Fuck, well ... we'll just have to go slow, like _really_ slow, and loosen me up as much as humanly possible beforehand.

Does Tony even know about such things? He's never done "the bum thing" he said ... I take that to mean of course, not even with girls- does he understand that the mechanics of it are different from pussy ? That you can't just plow right in there without some fairly significant prep ? At least you can't _me_. Christ.

I ponder and fret further. Why? Why drop this into my lap with literally zero prep time, mentally or physically? Zero time to educate the straight boy beforehand, lest he maybe dismiss the whole thing out of impatience or disgust. And here I will have gotten myself all riled up and antsy and hard.

Christ I am _nervous _! Pace ... ponder ... sweat.

Okay, is it just me or does he seem to be taking a long time? I may lose my fucking mind and possibly my nerve by the time he shows up.

Is there any chance I'm in the wrong boiler room ? Tony, you bastard, _hurry_ _up_.

He's not ... he's not fucking with me is he ? He's not upstairs, laughing at my predicament ?

Just as this thought is passing through my brain, the world's silkiest lips are pressed into my neck. As I leap in surprise, a set of strong arms twine themselves around me from behind.

Okay. _Okay_. Done for.

I am visited in this instant by several brief but full colour flashes of Tony and I:

_Holding hands at a carnival, sharing a wad of pink fluffy cotton candy ..._

_Pushing a single shopping cart up the local grocery store aisle ..._

_Blowing out candles together on a homemade birthday cake ..._

_Slow dancing in our flat during a warm, late summer rainstorm-_

"-Ya ready to get fucked ?" He cracks, snapping me out of my reverie.

I sigh. All of the images fly from my head.

I clear my throat.

"Um ... yes." I step away and turn toward him. "You've never done this before, right ?"

"What, buttfucking?"

"Jesus – yes. We prefer to call it _anal_."

"Okay, whatever – no, never. I mean, why bother with a girl's asshole when her cunt's right there ?"

"Christ Tony ! Can you not be so ... _clinical_ about this ? Crude ?"

He shrugs. I continue.

"The only reason I ask is ... the, um, ... _logistics_ are sorta slightly different from what you're used to."

He shrugs again.

"Ya, I figured. 'specially with a massive boner like mine. But still, plowin' a hole's plowin' a fuckin' hole, right ?"

I slump. Yes, you bastard. Just any old random hole. Not like there's a person attached to it.

He grins. "And I _definitely_ know how to do that." He reaches and turns me so that my back is against his chest again, resumes the earlobe nibble ... slides his arms round ... slides his hands below ... and whispers.

"Won't be a problem, Max, I promise." Kiss. Lick. Nibble. _Stroke_. Shit, oh _shit_. "Plus, now that your little secret's out, maybe that'll make things easier ..."

I don't hear him at first. My eyes are softly shut, head cocked slightly to the side, making way for his lips, as he fingers my zipper.

"Wha ? What ... little ... secret ?"

He snorts and yanks it down.

"That you're madly in love."

My lids fly open.

"I'm, I'm not, Tony. I told you."

He unpops my top button and whispers.

"Ya don't have to worry, Max. Doesn't bother me one bit. I'm not one of those blokes who gets embarrassed or uncomfortable when people he doesn't fancy in the least turn out to be smitten."

I rip myself from him. I turn.

"_Christ_, you are such a cunt."

He squints, genuinely taken aback.

"_Huh_ ?"

"You don't even know why I'm mad right now, do you ?"

"_No_," he snaps, "other than you're embarrassed because you know I _know_. Even though I _told_ you it didn't fucking bother me."

I'm panting, seething.

"Bother you? You _fucking_ egotistical _prick_. You _actually_ believe the entire world revolves around you."

He looks back at me, baffled. I continue.

"The _only_ thing that matters is what might or might not _bother_ or _embarrass_ Tony Stonem! Never mind what anyone else feels!"

He shouts.

"What is your _problem_ ? I was just being honest ! The _one_ thing I would've expected about sex with guys is that you don't have to _bullshit_ them up front like you do _girls_."

"Maybe not," I shout back. "But you don't have to be such a cold, calculating prick about it, either !"

"What, did you expect me to bring you _flowers_ ?"

"No, but-!"

"-We're just _fucking_ _around_, Maxxie ! Did you actually think there was anything else going on here ? This is just a fucking _experiment_ done out of _sheer fucking boredom_ !"

I'm fuming, panting, nostrils flaring at just what a motherfucker he can be.

"_Experiment _! _Boredom_ ! _Fantastic_ ! _I_ am here, my _hole_ is here, with one purpose: to relieve Tony's boredom ! _Why_ _don't you go fuck a fucking_ _pumpkin_, or a _blow up_ _doll_ or better yet _fuck the fucking wall !_ No chance of it falling in love or having any feelings !"

"_Fuck_ _you_ !"

I shake my head slowly, and blurt a sentence I never in my wildest imaginings thought I would have reason to ...

"Right. Well, I'm sure as fuck not having sex with you anymore, Tony. Just so ya know."

"What are you _talking_ about ? We haven't had even _had_ sex."

"We've sucked each other off, or did you forget ?"

He snorts.

"Doesn't count."

"Oh, no? That's not part of the 'experiment'? Our little science project, right? Do I get extra credit for coming in your face ?"

"Fuck off ! I was curious! I was bored! You were horny and you fancied me ! What is the big fucking deal ?"

"The big fucking deal is that I'm _not_ an experiment ! I'm not an object to be used !"

"Ya, well tell me _who's_ using _who_ ?"

"This whole thing was _your_ _idea_ !"

"Ya, and I _really_ had to twist your fucking arm about it, didn't I ?"

I fidget for a beat, embarrassed at the truth in the statement.

"I'd rather not be referred to as a _hole_, okay ? And thanks so much for reminding me just how much you _don't_ fancy me. It's not like I have feelings or anything."

He snaps.

"Fuck's sake, are you even a _guy_ ? I am giving you _free_ sex with _no_ strings ! How many of your little faggot friends would give up their dildos and nipple rings to trade places with you right now !"

I'm raging now, positively screaming at him.

"You ... _motherfucker_ ! _The last time I checked the definition of FAGGOT, it included guys who knelt down and SUCKED COCK !"_

He stops suddenly, and shrugs, refusing to take the bait.

I storm toward the door, livid, shaking with outrage and hurt that he would dare drop the F bomb in my presence, as well as with disgust at myself for _ever_ imagining in my wildest dreams that Tony could change, that he could possibly possess a single even remotely sensitive bone in his body.

I go to rip open the door when he calls to me in a calm voice.

"Maxxie – wait."

Against my better judgement, I turn.

"_What_ ?"

"Okay, listen. You're right. I'm a cunt- I admit it."

Fucking _right_ you are, I think, but say nothing.

"I shouldn't've said 'faggot'. I take it back."

_Tony_ ... (semi) _apologize _? It ... just doesn't happen.

"About the rest," he goes on, "I swear, Max, I just wanted to clear the air in case it made you feel uncomfortable, my knowing how you feel-"

I go to interrupt him but he raises his hand.

"-_Okay_, maybe you're not in love with me, especially not now, but you fancy me, we can agree on that, right? My point being, I didn't want you to be uncomfortable about my knowing, cuz ... I know the feeling. Exact same thing happened to me once, that's all, and it was pretty fucking humiliating."

I say nothing, stunned at this _second_ thing Tony never does: admit to any sort of failure, let alone feelings. My anger, accordingly, quickly dissipates. I can't help but feel semi-honored, in fact, that he would confess something this personal to me, and so I try to make light of things.

"Some girl _actually_ didn't like that you liked her ?"

"Not a girl ..."

My heart leaps on this. A BOY ?

"... a woman," he continues. "Somebody's mum."

I squint.

"Somebody's _mum _? Wha-, _whose_ mum ?"

He shakes his head slowly.

"Not gonna say."

My eyes narrow.

"Not _mine_ !"

He smiles.

"Come on, Max. Your mum looked after me when I was a baby. I'm not _that_ twisted. It's nobody you know."

"Who is she, though ?"

"Can we just leave it ? She's divorced. She's hot. It was a year ago and it's over and dead."

"Something _happened_ between you, though ?" I ask, fascinated, horrified.

"_No_. Look. She figured out I had a major thing for her, probably cuz I practically offered myself to her on a plate, but the feeling was not at all mutual. It was fairly fucking excruciating. Kinda the first time that's ever happened to me. I've barely been able to be around her, since."

I lean against the near wall and look off, astonished that indeed, Tony does apparently possess feelings.

"Ya, been there, lots," I offer. "Not with somebody's mum, though." I look at him. "Did anyone find out ? Like, the kid whose mum it was ?"

"No. 'Course not."

There is a long pause, until he breaks the silence.

"Sorry about 'faggot'."

Christ, miracles truly will not cease, these days.

He half grins.

"'Specially where I'm an honorary one now, n all."

"It's ... it's okay. Forget it."

There is then a very long and somewhat awkward pause, after which, unsure of what else to do, I turn for the door.

"See you upstairs."

He looks at me.

"Maxxie, wait."

I stop, and look back.

"Just ... while I'm like, spillin' my guts here, just ... I mean, maybe I shouldn't say anything, but ... what I said to you before, about not fancying you-"

"-Christ, Tone, do we really have to go over this again ?"

He fidgets and speaks slowly, haltingy, things that are absolutely astonishing to witness coming from someone who normally embodies the terms _bravado, swagger_ and _cocksure_.

"No, look ..." He continues. "I just was gonna say ... I mean, I might not, y'know ... quote unquote _fancy_ you, but ... if I'm completely honest ... it doesn't mean I don't, y'know ... still sorta, y'know ... _want_ you ... n shit."

I keep my heart in check via the following quick translation:

_Fancy_ = liking enough to possibly partner up.

_Want_ = sex, strictly.

This thought however, worms it's way into my brain:

One _can_ lead to the other though ... can't it ?

_Shut up,_ Maxxie.

* * *

I look at him, heart and cock pulsing ... unsure if I should be insulted ... afraid like fuck to move towards what is yet again being freely offered ...

"Um ... okay."

"I mean, I know you said you didn't wanna have sex with me ..."

"Anymore," I offer absently.

He laughs.

"Right. Blowjobs count- got it. But ... I mean ..."

"You're still up for it."

His grin is shy, wide, mind spinningly gorgeous. "Maybe. If _you_ are. If I haven't, like, _completely_ fucking turned you off."

I gulp, and am unable to keep from blurting the five most amazing words that will ever be known as _fact_.

"And you actually want me."

He approaches, shifting his weight and sliding a hand into his back pocket as he goes into that subtle, insanely sexy miniature hip-sway that I don't even think he knows he's doing. He leans. He whispers. The light dances in his eyes.

"_Yes_."

He is unaware, of course, that within this one tiny word exists multitudes, worlds, _miracles_. My insides are released to spin about, whirling and dancing like the Bolshoi ballet. Yes, Maxxie Oliver is, in this single exquisite moment, _one_ with joy, with bliss, with euphoria ... with lust.

* * *

Our lips meet, soft, sweet, shy, at first. I run a hand up into his hair as, over and over, he nips at and licks my lower lip before gently pulling it between his. We toy and play with each other in this manner for several minutes, our fight seemingly having cleared the air to a degree that has left us both loose, relaxed ... and horny.

He reaches low ... pressing a palm ... then the heel of his hand directly into the spot where my zipper was, rotating it slowly against the material.

Playtime having thus been deemed definitely overwith, our kiss deepens and intensifies, and as he slips his fingers inside, I am quickly caused to have to push back against him, if only to allow myself small space in which to pant ...

Round and round his fingers go, cupping and stroking, caressing and grasping ...

_Plunk_. His knees hit the floor. Inward I am taken, and my eyes seal themselves shut.

_Soft ... soft_ ... _swirrrrlll ... swirrrrrllll ... gah ... breathe ... breathe ... _

My brain fuzzes over, as if in a dream ... and hazy is the sudden image of Tony, mouth open wide over the pointed peak of, yes, (the image I admit I have pictured on many an occasion:) ... a soft serve vanilla ice cream cone ... opening ... closing ... shaping and reshaping the quickly melting substance, twisting it inside his mouth, lips smeared in creamy white, tongue pink and wide and generous as it catches each and every wayward streaky drip ... gulping ... _swallowing_ ...

"Uh – _uhh_ ! _UHHH_ !" I cry out, top of my lungs, and ... _woooooshcrash_ ! 200 storey building out of the sky.

When I come to, Tony is naked except for a condom, to which he is applying an inordinately generous amount of lube, having somehow fished both from my pockets without my knowledge. I stand by, panting, flushed, helpless as he quickly and wordlessly strips me of my clothing and, taking hold of my hips, rather ungently turns me to face the nearby ladder, the iron one bolted to the wall, with which I am about to become very, very familiar.

* * *

_**Author's note: Please stay tuned for more Tony and Maxxie- chapter 4 is a work in progress. In the meantime, please take a moment to REVIEW ! Seriously, it's the only way I know if this is any good. Thank you ! **_


	4. Chapter 4

Ahead of me the cement wall is grimy, with gray peeling paint. Adjacent to me the old furnace belches and coughs and stinks. Behind me Tony is sliding a finger gently down my crack.

I shut my eyes, grip the worn, dirty iron wrungs, and silently pray.

"Alright ?" he asks, introducing a digit.

"Ya," I lie.

* * *

What Tony doesn't know is that I've barely been touched here. Twice. Just twice. A veritable virgin. Well, three times, technically, but the first, at age 15, at the behest of my 37 year old then dance instructor, I don't count. While it didn't involve force, it certainly involved the taking advantage of an especially insecure, nervous, and overly trusting kid with a crush. To this day, people wonder why I stopped dancing for a year.

* * *

"Shit, Max," he says, sounding a bit freaked, "you're like _really _fucking_-"_

"_-_Tight. I know."

* * *

The time after that, I suppose, couldn't help but be a disaster, due to the massive buildup of hope and anticipation on my part, and the baggage I dragged with me into the act- wanting it to singlehandedly erase all memory of my first experience, while serving as a magical bonding slash love agent with my new and (I had hoped) first real boyfriend, however, during it, he did the unthinkable in calling out someone else's name, and afterwards told me in so many words that I simply didn't excite him. The next day I was summarily dumped – and not even to my face, but via one very brief and to the point text message.

"_Fuck_," I gasp, as a second digit makes an appearance, "_slow_, Tone."

"Sorry."

"Giant bloody goddam fingers," I spit.

"Yup. I'm giant everywhere," he snickers.

Thanks. Thanks. Like I'm not petrified enough.

* * *

And finally, there was, _sigh_ ... sweet, sad Jake, who, during our brief relationship before his family suddenly moved back to Spain, I was half mad for, and for once, the feeling was mutual. Here was a lad with everything – a gorgeous head of dark, wavy hair, a gorgeous accent, smooth olive skin, huge dark eyes, the longest eyelashes I've ever seen, and a certain sort of quiet grace, just in the everyday way he carried himself, that as a dancer, I particularly admired. He was also funny as hell, soft spoken, a bit brood-y (enormously sexy, that), _and_, other than around his parents, he never shied away from holding my hand in public. In meeting him, I felt like I'd won a million pounds.

* * *

I shift, gasp, and lean my head back.

"Okay." My voice is strained. "One more. Should do it."

Behind me Tony nods.

* * *

So, with Jake, what could've been the problem, then ? Well, just as my luck always seems to have it ... because of some otherwise undetectable medical condition he was born with that I still can't pronounce, he was forced to take numerous prescription drugs which rendered him essentially impotent. Which for him, of course, was awful and humiliating, and for me, especially shitty seeing as the one time he was actually able to get hard, stay hard _and_ penetrate me it was absolutely fantastic – liked I'd always dreamed. The rest of the time, in order not to hurt him, I was forced to pretend it was no big deal, but I'm a really bad liar, and he knew. The only up side, sexually speaking, was that I got to do the fucking for two, and he in turn channeled his frustrations and rage into slow, blistering oral.

* * *

The air leaves my lungs as if they've been stepped on, from them emanating a great audible _woooosh_. Tony has inadvertently hit that certain magical inner spot.

"What the ... ? What happened ?" he inquires.

"Nothing," I reply, panting. _I'll explain later._ "Go," I hiss. "Do it."

"Y'sure?"

_No, I'm not sure !_ _Can't you see I'm white knuckling the fucking ladder, here ?_

"_Yes,_" I blurt, holding my breath and jutting out my rear another inch.

My left hip is cupped. I grit my teeth and vertically reposition my fingers. A quick downward glance finds me, already, mostly hard. By the time there is that first contact of cool gel, I'm pouring sweat. The next split second is taken up by that incredible anticipatory sensation of a warm, blunt object seeking permission.

I squeeze my eyes shut and in a feeble attempt to slow down time, visualize this most extraordinary of moments, the last time I, Maxxie Oliver, will be a Tony Stonem-virgin, something my exceedingly jittery, arousal-blinded brain imagines as a major dividing line in my life ...

_Plunge_.

Mother! My eyes fly open, the pain shoots up my back, and the real panting begins.

"_Slow, Tone_," I plead/wheeze.

"Fuck," he says, sounding semi-panicked. "I don't think I can _fit_."

"You will," I hiss. "Just ... takes a minute ... to adjust."

"But my dick's strangled."

_Strangled_. Such a romantic choice of words. _Bastard_. How about ruining the moment ? How about .. what makes him frigging think he knows, better than me, how this works ?

I turn my head slightly.

"Just ... give it a minute ... okay?"

Fucker. As if _he's_ the one with a burning fire poker, burning fucking _phone pole _making it's way up his ass.

And then it's for us to stand there, awkwardly waiting, til my body adjusts.

"Is it always this complicated ?" he inquires, after a pause.

My heart plummets. Terrific ! The mathematical equation being: Sex + Maxxie = "_Complicated"_, defined as:_ complex; difficult to analyze, understand or explain. _Yes. _Just_ the association I wanted Tony to have.

"Um ... sometimes ..." I mutter, mortified.

When, a few moments along, the pain subsides, I give him the nod, and am slightly panicked myself when I'm caused to cry out at the sheer breadth and volume my body is being asked to absorb, and the knowledge that, to boot, he's only half way there.

Tony stops dead.

"This isn't working."

"_What_ isn't working?"

"Come on, Max. I can't hardly fit."

"Which, if you think about it," I snap, "is a _good_ thing, right ? What the fuck did you think I meant about the _logistics_ being different, huh ? _Give it a fucking minute_."

In response to his eventual shrug, I feel a surge of guilt.

What did you expect ? Not his fault. He's straight. He's huge. And he's a boy-virgin.

_But what about all those thousands of orgiastic imaginings I've had of this very same scenario ? You know, the one where it's all smooth and seemless and scorching fucking hot and Tony comes better than he ever has and can't believe his good fortune and holds me in his arms and tells me he loves me ?_

Ahem ... Okay. Let's at least pretend we didn't admit to that last bit, shall we ?

I turn my head.

"Sorry. It loosens up. It's fine now. It'll be good, I promise."

"Okay, so ... go, then?"

"Ya," I nod, re-gritting my teeth.

Both hips are grasped as Tony makes one final, pointed inward thrust, so that his body is entirely flush with mine.

"_Fuck_," I laugh/cough/pant. _Christ, it smarts !_ "Wow. Seriously Tone, you have no business being this big."

He wraps his arms round me from behind and kisses my cheek. My brain dissolves into a blissful fog ... floating ... near delirious that ... _Tony_ ... is ... _actually_ ... right now deep inside me.

He speaks from his throat.

"Have to admit, never quite felt my size like this before. You're, like, tighter than any virgin."

"Oh ? You've had dozens ?"

"No. Um ... let's see ... five, last count."

I turn my head.

"_Five_ ?"

"No, wait. Six. Bucktooth, the camping trip, always forget - major virgin."

"You filthy bastard, popping all those poor, unsuspecting cherries."

He laughs.

"Just doing my duty. Gotta make sure their, y'know, introduction to _cock_ is, like, a wholly positive experience."

"Bollocks," I laugh, and turn my face sideways to kiss him. "_You've_ been a virgin, up to this moment, you realize."

He laughs.

"An ass virgin."

"Yes." I kiss him again. "How's it feel ?"

He slides his hands slowly up my chest, his thumb grazing my nipples, sending a vibratory shock-wave/tingle through them both. I imagine for a moment the pair feeding back like an electric guitar, and as the sensation continues, exploding.

"So far, so good," he growls into my ear, kissing and dragging his teeth across my lobe. "And if it feels this good _now_, can't _imagine_ how good it's gonna be when I start _fuckin_'."

Mother of sweet jesus. If you dare add even a smidgeon of filthy talk into the mix ...

I raise a hand to his hair and lean my head back. He turns my face, and despite the awkward angle, his kiss is deep and masterful, leaving me, I'm sure, like one of his many virgins – gasping, dizzy, half mad.

In the few remaining seconds I'm afforded after Tony pulls his head away I plant my chin on the nearest wrung, grip and regrip the ladder, position and reposition my feet, sweating my balls off, nervous out of my skull, but somehow sensing that the fates, for once, just might be on my side.

Even in retreat, Tony feels huge, the slowness of the movement only serving to emphasize this point as it drags and pulls against the skin-tight, supersensitive flesh.

"_Shit. Fantastic_," he mutters, before thrusting inward once, hard and shallow, forcing the first fuck-induced exhalation from me. "_Wow_," he laughs, in what sounds like delight and disbelief, finishing the final push into my depth.

Yes, Tony is fucking me and laughing about it – not something that was a part of the plan, however, I'm not at all sure I dislike it.

Preparing himself for thrust number two, Tony positions his hands to clutch both my hips, and, as a natural bottom, may I say that I find the sensation especially thrilling. _He's excited by you; by your body. He wants to slam headlong into you, and getting a good grip's essential._

_Plunge !, _it comes, a single lengthy thrust, and I cry out for real this time, happy to report that there can be no question – _Tony fits me_ _by_ _not fitting me at all_; not one single bit. We are horribly mismatched, in fact ... and it just might be the best thing ever.

Over my shoulder, once again, is not so much laughter as breathy, startled chuckling.

"_Fuck ! Amazing !_"

Yes, I beam, like the sun, the moon and the stars; the world in fact tilts slightly off it's axis.

The next several lunges are hard, deep and in rapid fire succession, the inner pull and drag positively scandalous, with the unceasing tightness being _just_ this shy of uncomfortable, but never getting there. I mean, let's face it; a cock isn't exactly _designed_ to fit here. I liken it to a doorknob being repeatedly stuffed through a small, highly sensitive keyhole.

Tony tilts his pelvis, regrips a hip, slides his free arm across my chest, and proceeds now to out and out _fuck_ _me_ ... we're talking ram-city, warp speed ... truly like there's no tomorrow ... yes, doing a right cracking job of making mincemeat out my ass ... on top of which, if it all wasn't incredible enough, he _grunts, cusses and gasps, directly_, _and repeatedly into my ear ..._

Something which, on it's own, of course, could easily make me cream, and somewhere in the midst of which you will find Maxxie, yes ... _screeching_ ... like a banshee, like a wild fucking boar, like a 6 year old girl, oh so thankful for the boiler's continous, deafness-inducing hum.

It surely isn't long, no not at all, how could it be ? ... before the poor swollen member between my legs is caused to finally give out and burst like a fucking water balloon, in response to which I go limp in his arms, overcome, overwhelmed, thoroughly and decidedly _spent_ ... and yet at no pointed am I granted even a moment's respite, for Tony's hips are a hurtling, manic blur.

Which quickly proves too much even for him. Within another few seconds, at the conclusion of a thrust of particular strength and ferocity, Tony follows suit. ... but not before there takes place a minor miracle.

Way, way under his breath, there is heard a significant, albeit grunted two syllable word:

"... _Maxxie !..._"

... followed immediately by a desperate cry ... and then I'm bearing the brunt of his panting, sodden form.

_Holy bleeding christ_ ... My eyes are huge, and rapidly blinking. Even in an evening of impossibles ... how could it be ? Why hadn't I thought of this before - that all along, he could have pretended I was Kate Moss ... Claudia Schiffer ... _Michelle_ ... and yet ... he didn't ! He clearly fucking didn't. What could it mean ? What _does_ it mean ?

He's laughing again now, giggling in fact, certainly giddy, kissing my cheek, the whole affair having taken at most, 90 brief seconds, something at which, yes, I might ordinarily be disappointed, preferring as most do, a lover with some _stamina _and yet how can I be, when I realize that _my_ little body, my ordinary miserable flesh, has not only brought about a thundering orgasm in a veritable sex god such as _Tony_, but has done so in what is maybe record time.

My heart, my head, my soul, are light, floating, suspended on a white, whispy cloud, spinning and dancing with the angels. I am incapable of not having this thought: _I want to be with you forever, Tony._ I run a hand up into that glorious and now damp head of hair, and laugh with him, giddy myself, inquiring hoarsely.

"What is it ... ?" (Making sure to leave off the end of the sentence: "my love".)

Those strong, sinewy pale arms respond by twining slowly round me. My god, Tony. My god. If you only knew ...

"I swear, " he chuckles happily, "I just had no fucking _idea !_"

"'bout what ?"

"'_Bout what _?" He says, incredulous. "Try like, 'bout how fucking awesome gay sex is !"

_BINGO ! YES !_ _Sound the horns ! Ring the churchbells !_ Inside me is a frenzied encore of not so much the Bolshoi Ballet, but the fucking Flying Wallendas.

"Seriously, Max ! _No clue in the entire fucking world !_"

Stupidly, _soooo_ _goddam_ _stupidly_ though, instead of basking in this most extraordinary of international gay pride moments, I have to, yes I just _must_ go ahead and goddam spoil it, by of all things, a kneejerk moment of political fucking correctness.

"It's not _gay_ sex, Tone. It's just ... sex."

As soon as the words leave my stupid idiot lips, I want to leap into the air to catch them. Right, Maxxie, just _remind_ Tony, who for the _very_ first time in his entire life _actually_ thinks you are the hottest, most brain-spinningly erotic creature walking this earth ... go ahead, now, and remind him that _both_ genders have equally accessible bumholes.

Tony, however, god bless him, comes right to my rescue.

"Ya but ... a girl'd probably never let you-"

I leap right on.

"-_Right_ ! _So right ! _I didn't _think !_ They wouldn't, would they ? Not in a million years !"

_Okay_, Maxxie, give it a rest.

At this moment, Tony grasps my hips for leverage, pulls out and stands away from me, yanking on the end of the condom, and, I can't help it ... I want to burst out crying, for not only is the _act_ now officially over, but I immediately feel the loss of him, the void, the now empty and lonely space where we'd been joined.

I look at this radiant creature, chest and neck flushed, hair a tousled mess, and feel it with a desperation I've never previously known: the desire to hold, the desire to be held.

It's one thing, you see, to jerk somebody off or even to bring them to orgasm with your mouth ... but allowing someone access to the part of your body that is universally reviled and despised is an act of closeness and intimacy that, in my opinion, is unparalleled.

As my brain is flooded with these, for me, typically dreamy afterglow thoughts, Tony is proceeding to hold the condom between the tips of two fingernails, like it disgusts him, like it's made of plutonium. To my eyes, however, it is a thing of extraordinary beauty, containing, in one medium sized pool at the bottom, the proof and product of Tony's Maxxie-inspired orgasm.

"Big wad," he comments in more a matter-of-fact than boastful way.

_Yes, beautiful_, I keep myself from blurting. _More than usual ? _I want to inquire.

"More than usual ?" I blurt. _God_. It just ... slipped out.

He looks at me with what is possibly a proud grin.

"_Definitely_. This gay sex business is indeed, excellent for one's sperm count."

_Do not correct him this time !_

"Tell me about it," I crack.

"But you're a poof. _This_," he says, thrusting the condom at me, "I didn't expect." He looks off, pondering. "No, I can honestly say I had no idea it would be that good." He looks back. "And believe me, I don't usually come that fuckin' quick; not from oral, not from masturbation, not from handjobs, or pussy, or even _multi-_pussy. If I did, I assure you, my reputation would be shot."

I squint.

"_Multi-pussy_ ?"

"Threesomes," he answers absently, while checking around corners for a rubbish barrel, before finding one and chucking it in.

I laugh, in awe, in loving, admiring delight over this beautiful, incorrigible creature, wholly undeterred at the moment that I am one in a long line of continuous and repeated conquests.

As he makes his way back towards me, my eyes take in the glorious sight of Tony naked, dripping, and really, really animated.

"Seriously, Max," he starts, "I just never thought. See, what you don't know is that a girl's cunt is tight, or tight-_ish_ at first, depending on how experienced she is. Of course, I mean, like most guys, I prize a good virgin, but they're harder and harder to come by these days, believe me, but anyway, at _first_ a cunt's nice and snug, right ? But once you get going, once you start plowing that motherfuckin' hole, it sorta starts to fucking _widen out_, at the back, where you're cockhead goes, you follow ? Which is always a bit frustrating. I remember asking this question in anatomy class, in fact- 'why does pussy loosen up, right when you goddam need it to clamp down ?' It was a female teacher, too, and she thought I was fucking around, but I _wasn't_. I wanted to know the answer. I think we have valid reasons to know these things. Anyway, I don't know if it's because you're not all that experienced, Max, that your ass was tighter than a motherfuckin' drum; I mean, it felt like fucking a _straw,_ and most miraculous of all it fucking _stayed_ that way, _despite_ the fact that I was rammin' it home, boy, givin' it my best, hardest, most celebrated piston-fuck. Or is it just that I've got an as you now well know, inordinately massive whopper here, and like, the human asshole just isn't all that _flexible. _I mean, a baby doesn't eventually have to make it's way down there, does it ? Christ, I was even semi-scared at first. I thought, my dick's gonna turn blue from the pressure and fall off ! I almost sorta panicked a bit, but as soon as I was able to cram it in, I mean, fuckin' _wow, _and I thought to myself-"

"-_Tony_."

He stops and looks at me, almost as if he's forgotten I'm here.

"What?"

I laugh.

"Do you always natter on like this after sex ?"

"No, but, fact is, Max, I haven't hardly ever come like that, y'see, and to boot, you're so much easier to talk to than a girl. I can't possibly spill my guts to them like this ... blah blah blah ..."

Everything he says after that most extraordinary, earth shattering trio of sentences, I don't hear. His lips are moving, I can make out the occasional "tight", "hole", "cock" or "jizz", but my brain keeps tripping and stumbling, tripping and stumbling, and when combined with reliving the evening's _earlier_ watershed moment, his calling out my name – I'm rendered, essentially, _fudge_.

I want to ask him about it, but ... how does one bring these things up ? Tony, do you not realize that this series of things you're doing to me, both physical and otherwise, a guy who you _know_ has had a long standing crush, is all but guaranteed to push this to another level, at least, for me ? Wouldn't you consider that if you told a girl after you'd fucked her that it had never been this good and that she was so much easier to talk to than other girls ... wouldn't she by rights think that you were maybe defining things as at least _somewhat_ serious ... or possibly considering heading that way ? Otherwise, why say it ?

_Or_ ... is this all just Tony's standard post-fuck protocol ? The same B.S. he doles out to his virgins and his threesomes ?

But see, I'm not a frigging girl, and Tony is straight, and therefore does not stand to gain anything by _pretending _with me. So ... is this all just an ego stroke, then ? Toying with the gayboy to make him want you that much more ?

If I were permitted to break these arbitrary and unspoken rules that of course, Tony has essentially set up, the ones that say we two are subjects in a exploratory sexual experiment that is _not_ about confirming any particular hypothesis ... what would I say ?

"Tony, are you just fucking with me, or is there any chance you're actually trying to tell me something ?"

_Shit ! _..._ fucking did it again_ !

Thankfully, he's half way across the room and doesn't hear me, too preoccupied with attempts to explore the room and open each of the several doors leading into it, but finding them mostly locked, until one at the far end does open. He peaks past it, and turns back to me with the loveliest cheeky grin before scampering excitedly to my side,_ taking my hand,_ and pulling me to the same door.

"_Look !_" He shouts, like he's discovered a golden treasure.

It is a room barely big enough for a twin bed, a miniature fridge, a dusty, 1950's looking television, a naked lightbulb suspended from the ceiling, and a small stand alone shower stall.

Why he's so thrilled at the discovery of what is maybe the boilerman's temporary windowless sleeping quarters, I don't know.

He pulls me round by hand as we check the fridge (empty except for a half eaten, mold covered sandwich), the tv (works), and finally, the shower.

Tony reaches in and turns it on, testing the water temperature with his free hand before announcing,

"Right. I'm getting in."

"But ... what if the boiler guy comes back ? You can shower upstairs."

"Max, I'm not walking up there stark bollock _naked_, nor am I putting brand new and rather smart, specially-purchased-for-Russia clothing over a sweat soaked bod such as mine. Colors'll bloody run."

He drops my hand, throws back the curtain, puts one foot inside, hesitates, turns back, grins, _grabs my hand_, and before I have time to protest, _pulls me inside with him_.

"Tony !"

"Come on," he giggles. "We fucking _reek_. We smell like fucking heating oil, B.O., and like-"

"Sex," I grin.

He grins with me.

"Definitely. We _did_ just have sex, didn't we ?" He teases, reaching for the dust covered bar of soap. "Making me eligible, once again, for the Honorary Poof Hall of Fame."

Only honorary ?

Tony leans his head back into the spray and as I watch, the water cascades from the top of his head, over his face, and down his body, all while he begins running the soap in slow circles over his chest.

_Gulp_. Because of the tight confines of this shower stall, I'm less than a foot from him. Does Tony not understand, I mean, he _must_, _surely_ that what he's doing is absolutely the equivalent of gay soft core porn ?

"So," he inquires, finally handing me the bar and switching places so that I'm under the tap, "how good _was_ I, then ? Scale o' one to eleven. You haven't said a word."

Christ, he's beautiful, but insufferable.

"Why eleven ?"

He grins. "I like to give people the _option_."

I groan.

"So people always critique your performance ?"

"No. That's why I always ask."

I turn my body into the spray, and then back, to face him, incapable of keeping myself from fucking with him.

"Well, but ... what if you weren't any good ? What if it was a _two_. Would you wanna hear _that_ ?"

He harrumphs. "I assure you, my friend, I have never fallen below a-" He stops dead. His eyes widen. "_Fuck, did you not like it _?"

I laugh. "_Don't worry." _Jesus, it's fun poking at his ego. "I won't tell anybody."

For maybe the first time since I've known him these past four years, he looks concerned and embarrassed.

"Maxxie, I-"

"Come on, Tony ! I'm kidding ! You were great !"

He takes a breath, and the cocky grin returns.

"Shit. _Knew_ it. I mean, you blew your friggin' load right in the middle-"

I blush.

"-Yes, okay, I know !"

"Irrefutable fuckin' _evidence_, I'd say."

We switch places again and I let the spray run down my back. I admit to feeling a certain level of exhaustion, emotionally and otherwise. When one's wildest, most unreal fantasies come roaring to life, and to boot are all crammed into one short 24 hour time span, it is, I suppose, to be expected. Tony, however, is lively, alert, and curious.

"So, what's it like ?" He inquires.

"What's _what_ like ?"

"Y'know ... gettin' _plowed _n shit."

I laugh and soap my chest.

"Christ. Do you ever ask any of your female conquests that question ?"

"No," he says, sounding mildy offended.

"So then, why me ?"

He grins.

"Because. You'll actually answer it."

"But ... why would you even want to know ?"

"Shit, isn't a bloke allowed to be curious ? With the vast number of times I've plunged into cavities and watched people go apeshit, I think I'd be a little dull in the head if I didn't at least _sometimes_ wonder."

I laugh.

"Ya, okay. Understood. Well, that's the beauty of being a gayboy- we never have to wonder. Best of both worlds."

He laughs and nods his head.

"Right. So tell me."

"Well shit. What do you want me to say ? I mean, it's pretty ... indescribable."

"Try," he grins, soaping up his arms and trading places with me under the spray again.

"Christ, well ... it's just ... I don't know. I've never really thought about it, actually, but I guess it's just, like, y'know ... I don't know. How can you put into words the feeling of being, like ... _occupied_ n shit. Possessed. Having a, like, a, a _foreign object_-"

At this he laughs, and I quickly correct myself.

"-but, okay, a _living_, _breathing_ foreign object, y'know, _the_ most sensitive, nerve packed part of a person's body, in fact, by far, that fills with blood which makes it swell and throb, and then what do you do with it ? You go and stick it _inside_ somebody else's body. It's nuts."

He raises an arm to soap up a pit.

"You still haven't told me."

I laugh.

"Which goes to show how hard this is to describe."

He raises the opposite arm, now.

"It's simple, Max. Just tell me why you like it."

I shrug, trying not to look at the hairs under his arms which, I confess, I find terribly alluring.

"It gets me off."

"But ... _why, _Max ?"

Funny that my attempts to be flippant and evasive, in other words, the way that Tony almost always is, are making him impatient.

"Because ... um ... well I'm gonna sound like a total twit, here -"

"-Whatever. Just spill."

"Okay, well ... I was gonna say, _emotionally_, it's, like, a big deal being, y'know, again, _occupied_, which means, in other words, I guess, _taken_. There's a huge, like, I don't know ... _primal_ sort of hookup connection thing that happens there, kind of maybe on a bone-marrow level, y'know? You ... because you open yourself up _literally_, and when you do that, you're automatically sort of, like, _vulnerable ... _and you're putting your trust in another person in allowing them, y'know, _inside _in the first place- inside your flesh ! It's actually pretty heavy when you think about it."

"Wow. Okay, I get it. So that's the psych shit. What about the physical ?"

"Oh, well physically, it's pretty fucking mind blowing, of course, being penetrated, in part because, I mean, a moving cock rubs and rubs against your prostate, did you know that ? Which is a big bundle of nerves directly behind your cock, otherwise known as the root and seat of male orgasm. Did you know the ejaculatory ducts lie within the prostate gland ?"

Tony busts out laughing.

"-Maxxie ! You're killin' me, mate !"

"It's true !"

"I'm sure it is_,_ it's just that, first you tell me it's indescribable, _then_ you launch into this, like, impassioned frigging glowing _anatomical_ delivery."

I blush. I grin.

"Shouldn't've asked me, then."

"Ya, I mean if there was ever any question you didn't like cock ..."

I shake my head slowly.

"Nah, ain't never been a single question 'bout _that_."

Tony then glances down, after which, I do as well.

Well, it certainly explains why I've been so warm and tingly.

I clear my throat, flush, and try to laugh.

"See what I mean ? Just talking about it ..."

How embarrassing. What to do now ? Turn the tap on cold, I suppose ?

Tony has a better idea.

* * *

**_Author's note:_ Thanks so much for reading and I hope the brief time between chapters is felt to have been worth the wait. Chapter 5 is presently in progress. It's so easy to fall in love with these characters and how mismatched they are and poor Maxxie's continuous struggles that I'd love the story to go on forever, however other than a general outline, I confess I sort of never know where it will end up until the writing gets going. It could end with chapter 5, or it could go on another 5- no way to tell. **

**As always, any and all reviews or critiques are welcome and encouraged, whether negative, positive or somewhere in between. Writing is a lonely enough business as it is. It's like a slaved-over dinner in a boiling hot kitchen. If you come in, gobble it down, enjoy it, but then walk out without saying a word ... **

**Many thanks !**


	5. Chapter 5

A soapy hand reaches, and grasps me.

I look down, in confusion and disbelief. Also momentary detachment. It doesn't matter that I know that those long fingers extending from that long pale arm belong to Tony, I still can't make it _fit_. Yes, he's stroked me. He's sucked me to orgasm. And less than 10 minutes ago, fully taken my arse. In other words, he's had me every which way a man can. There's no other place to _go_ ... all of which means there can be no explanation for, to my eyes, this tender, almost loving motion of his hand.

I know full well from having lived in a world surrounded by straight males that, other than for competitive-comparison reasons, they have an innate and overpowering aversion to cock. It repulses them. They find it hideous, even. (If I had a quid for the number of times I've had the phrase 'ugly as a penis' said in my presence ... How I would love one day to have the world turn on them, with everyone throwing out unchallenged phrases such as "unappealing as pussy", or "ugly as tits".)

No, they do not find cock interesting in the least, nor is it something normally thought of to help pass the time during a boring school road trip.

I look at him. His gaze is trained downward, brow furrowed, focused; immediate intent, obvious.

_What exactly is going on here, then ? Tony has had his gay play time. Has had his token bit of cock. He can go straight back to girls now, with the feeling that he's even more hip and daring and wordly and adventurous than previously thought. Outside in fact awaits an entire country full of women to be seduced and conquered. So then ... why remain here in this dank basement shower stall with me ? Why ?_

My lips form the word.

"_Why_ ?"

He looks up. He flashes me that cheeky grin.

"Why not ?"

No, Tony, I'm not gonna let you wriggle out of this. Let's be frank: if there's any possibility that you think you might be, well I won't say _gay _because I don't think you are, but _bi_, maybe ? If you're feeling, to your great surprise and maybe embarrassment, or, horror, even, that you might actually be even partially inclined that way, then, I mean ... you're looking at someone who totally understands. Who has obviously been there in a major way. So, I'm all ears.

Come on.

Go ahead.

Admit it.

I'm waiting.

Of course he won't tell you, my mind says; he knows you're in love with him, and Tony equates people being in love with him. with people making demands-

_-I'm not in love with him !_

Okay, we're still playing this game, are we ?

_Fuck off ! _

I clear my throat.

"You don't need to do this, Tone."

"I know," he says, matter of fact, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I want to be strong. I want to tell him off and recite my little speech.

_Push his hand away, Maxxie. Make him stop. Do it._

I want to be frustrated, no, _angry_ with him, for fucking with me, for confusing me so much these past two days.

_You can put an end to this right now. It's getting a bit weird, isn't it? Help him face the truth._

Yes. I will walk out of this shower stall and force him to answer for his seductive behaviours.

_Practice it: "Stop it, Tony. I'm not gonna be your gay tour guide anymore. Either join the club or get off at the next stop."_

I _do _want to_,_ only ... only ... why does decisiveness, determination and rebellion have to be so bloody _hot_ ?

_No_. Come on. Don't fall for it. Be a man.

I clear my throat again, determined to sound decisive myself, like someone who is not right now fast losing his grip on reality.

"If you know you don't need to do it ... then ... why ? Must be a reason."

He raises those electric blue beams, the ones that can see right straight into your soul, and grins in that way that makes your toes curl.

"Shame to waste a good hard-on."

Angsty, annoyed, eyes beginning to seal shut from the ceaselessly exquisite sensation, I blurt.

"I just don't get you, Tony."

He leans closer.

"You don't need to. You get _this,_" he adds, giving my cock an exciting little squeeze.

_How does he know I like that ? ?_

I lick my lips and speak from the dwindling part of my brain that's still rational.

"You think sex is the answer to everything, don't you ? It isn't."

The glint in his eye brightens for a beat.

"I know ..." he says, taking and soaping up my right hand, "but it's _definitely_ the answer to _some_ things," he adds, as he guides it straight to his cock.

And, ahh ... okay ... I crumble ... just like that ... into a million pieces. No. I do _not_ possess the willpower. I have fallen instead under the hopelessly seductive addiction known as _Tony_.

He presses me back into the tile and closes the gap between us, allowing just enough room for two quietly moving fists. He leans, bringing those red lips close. I reach, grip the back of his head, and mash my mouth into his. I want to bruise him, make him _bleed_, make him pay for turning me on like this, for making me yet again lose my resolve.

After a minute however, I push back, gasping for air.

"Like that ?" He whispers, coy and sexy.

"Fuck off," I snap, jerking him quickly to shut him up, and leaning to take a wet, pale pink nipple into my mouth, which immediately elicits both a palpable shudder and a particularly delicious low, vibrating grumbly moan.

_Mother ! Why have I not done this before ?_

I slow the rhythm of my hand and focus on the hyper-sensitive nubs, circling them with my tongue and squeeze-sucking them between my lips until Tony's right hand stops dead.

_Yes_ ! Who says a bottom can't take the lead ? With a single digit pressed against his sternum I walk him two feet backward into the opposite wall and assume full nipple play; kissing, flicking, sucking; pulling, licking, play-biting; tongue pointed, wide, flat, curved and/or lapping; the fingers of both hands moving in a good rhythmic tweak/strum/squeeze, all as he squirms and slithers like a beautiful wet snake.

A quick glance downward finds him fully hardened and my eyes are stuck in place. Such a sight ! Swollen, purple tipped, _huge_; beautifully, brilliantly formed, almost enough to make one believe in the concept of 'intelligent design'. Whoever _did_ design this particular masterwork was indeed poet, artist, and creative genius.

_What I wouldn't give to marry this bit of flesh. To dote on it. To heal it of it's stress. To kneel and make sweet love to it every single day of my life ..._

_Thunk_. I slip to the floor, it can't be helped ... grasp Tony's hips and pull him inward, bobbing away at mad speed before pulling off and pressing the thickened flesh upright into his belly. Goal ? Exacting 'revenge' via sensual torment of the twin dangling beauties, _any_ contact with which seeming to him to constitute torment. Here I kiss, nibble, lap and _hum_, the vibrations translating straight to his cock ... and then try on him something of which I've only just recently heard - 'teabagging', which involves a widely opened upturned mouth and the slow-torture suction of a pair of gently bobbing testicles ... which I am ecstatic to report _drives Tony_ _absolutely crazy_, inciting him into a frenzied shower stall jig.

Immediately I am then _yanked_ upright and pressed backward, with force into the wall, hands on either side of my face. Tony gasp-pants and looks wearily, with an expression of bewilderment, vexation, and vulnerability. I almost feel bad for him.

"_Why_ _? ?" _He asks, voice pained and stressed, "_Why are you so fucking hot ? ?_"

_EUREKA _! If not a single other thing ever happens in my life ... I feel like fucking _Superman_ ... _one thousand feet tall_ ... and far, far bolder than I normally ever would ...

"Haven't you figured it out by now, Tony?" I growl, shamelessly rubbing and thrusting my upturned cock into his, "Smart boy like you? Don't you _get_ that it takes a _guy_ to know what a guy actually _needs ?_"

_Wham_ ! I don't know if the intention is to shut me up from the news he does not want to hear, but his lips clamp down in an almost violent kiss during which we _grind_ our cocks into one another in what could be the single steamiest moment in the entire history of unfilmed gay erotic cinema ...

And then without any warning ... Tony's shoving me out of the shower with such force that I slip on the wet floor and nearly fall and break my neck.

"_Tony! Fuck!_-"

"-_Where's the shit _? !" He snaps, panting, impatient, head whipping round as the two of us drip freely onto the floor.

He then dives headlong for my trouser pockets and brings out what he needs.

He points. He barks.

"_ON the fucking bed."_

Maxxie doesn't need to be told twice. I fly, delirious, in the general direction, we're talking _total_ mirth and glee, and kneel, ecstatically, face down, panting like a racehorse, bottom happily placed high ... _yes_, such a gloriously natural feeling ... mind racing, beside myself with excitement and nerves.

_Tony just commanded me to bed ! ! _ _I'm to be fucked by him_ ... _AGAIN !_

Yes, I am still quite sore from before but _who's bloody complaining _?

The bed creaks as he crawls quickly behind me and ... no hesitation this time, I'm instantly filled with _Tony_.

I cry out in shock, pain and surprise. I didn't even know you could do that ! Just go right in ! _Marvelous_ – if it didn't fucking feel like your body was being split directly in two ...

Tony hovers a moment ... and then lowers his long, lean torso over mine ... after which, the pain vanishes. He's holding me, surrounding me. I feel incredibly safe, secure, _intensely_ desired – a heady and dare I say lethal combination, akin to some powerful, ill-advised drug that fucks with your head and gives you the best orgasm you've ever had.

"_Oh_ !" I cry out from the first test-lunge of his hips. Tony is in no mood for tenderness or subtlety. "_OH _!" I cry again, biting down on the pillow ... and then ... he's _off _... _flying_ ... and I'm a gasping, shrieking, _screaming_ idiot ... fingers and knuckles and knees and teeth _ground_ into the blanket, an outstretched palm planted against the wall ahead, lest I be hurtled through it ... incapable of finding any place inside of this out and out pummelling with which to _breathe_.

"_Sexy blonde bitch,_" Tony spits midway.

My heart stops. Okay ... _smut talk, too ? Just go ahead and kill me right here. _Though, okay, in review: 'sexy ... _bitch'_ ? Much as I appreciate the former ... I guess if truth be told, I don't much like being called a _bitch_. Too many negative prison connotations.

"_Pansy _(grunt)_ tightassed _(thrust)_ pricktease,_" he chants, biting my ear.

Are you _trying_ to murder me, Tony ?

Why ? Why does filthy chatter ramp up the excitement so bloody much ?

Okay, again, in review: ... 'pansy', said in jest, is almost sort of sweet, given the circumstances. 'Tight assed'- a phrase which in the straight world is used as an insult, is by contrast in the gay world, a point of pride, and for those in possession such as myself, a huge asset.

'_Prick tease'_ ? Not sure how to take that one, but no matter, point is: _it sounds dirty_, and so, does the bloody trick.

I tilt my behind and jolt back to meet him for the next round, hissing between gasping pants ...

"_Big-dicked hetboy_."

Which makes him laugh, and slow his pace, and then we're laughing together, lobbing a series of insult-complements at each other.

"_Ball_sucker."

I gasp out a giggle, the first syllable having been accompanied by an emphasizing thrust.

"Yes, and yours are particularly – _UH_ !"

"-_Shut UP, pansy, come-eating, cocksucker._"

It's magic, I tell you, _magic_, shooting my body temperature through the roof and sending little delightful aching quivers down my cock. I lean and bounce back against him, fucking him _ever-so-hard_ in reverse.

"_Fuck you,_ ar_sefucking straightboy._"

Tony groans breathily.

"Oh, you're gonna get it."

"_Boy_fucker," I add.

He bites my cheek and quickens his pace.

"_Ya, and you like it when I ram that boy-hole o' yours, don't you _?"

'_Boy-hole_' ! Suggesting that only us _boys_ have a thing as special as that !

"_Y-yes_," I gasp-sob, as his hips resume flight.

"_Fuck me." _He grunts roughly. _"Fuck me, Maxxie. Do it."_

_Such a plea !_ I grind backward against him- our flesh slapping and rocking in perfect unison until he takes hold of both hips and ... _rams_ _it, relentless, and straight home ..._

And that's it- my chest siezes, the colorfully spinning whirlwind in my head goes black, and my cock, wholly untouched, positively detonates ... shortly after which, Tony grunts out a string of uniquely grouped curse words ('_cuntmothercockfucker!')_ ... or something along those lines, and explodes in kind.

We are then two ragged, spent, gasping old men. Tony collapses against my back, rolls us onto our sides, and wraps his arms round me from behind.

It's what he does next, though, or rather, what he _doesn't_ do, that I'll remember forever.

He doesn't pull out.

He doesn't push me away.

He doesn't get up to leave.

Other than wearily muttering my name, he doesn't speak, even.

Instead ... he stays where he is ... holding me inside a warm, private, unspeakably wonderful Tony-cocoon.

Intoxicated, drunk with the glory and wonder of what the day has brought, my heart thumps out a lullaby as Tony and I drift into a sated, peaceful slumber.

* * *

**_Author's note:_ A tad briefer than prior chapters but hopefully no less fun ... My goal with this whole series is to write a decent piece of erotic fiction with compellingly fleshed out and reasonably realistic characters that the reader cares about (even if, yes, these guys weren't created by me). I want it to prove arousing as well as romantic. I want there to be struggle and conflict and angst as well as laughter and mind-splitting orgasms. It's a difficult balance - one can slip so easily into cliche, schmaltzy romance-novel crap, or, on the other end of the spectrum, into sexual descriptions that are maybe too graphic and porn-y, (which I admit I may at times be guilty of.) (Regarding same, as I said in my profile, I truly believe life is too short for G or PG stories.) **

**In this chapter, I particularly loved writing Tony's vexation and grief, even, at the confirmation of just how _insanely hot _sex with Maxxie is, and Maxxie's proud, almost arrogant response to this (turning the tables on these characters - Tony normally being the arrogant one). And Tony's resulting decision that, boy or not, something this hot _must be __immediately fucked__._ The dirty-talk, too, was fun to write - I loved the idea of little sexual insults and cracks - saying 'fuck you' to the person fucking you - which inexplicably and simultaneously makes you laugh, pisses you off, and _hugely _turns you on. Even though I suspect it interrupted the flow a bit, I loved having Maxxie review/critique the smut-talk right in the midst of it. It proved irresistable. **

**What this chapter almost was: Just to give an example of how a story can and often does veer away from the writer's original intent, I began this chapter with the general idea of there being mutual masturbation, that was it, no actual 'sex', after which, they would both exit the shower, dripping wet, and not be able to find any towels. I had a vague image of Tony laying down and rolling around in the bed sheet in order to dry off, and then in play, pulling down Maxxie with him, after which, having followed two orgasms apiece in rapid succession (actually, three for Maxxie), they would inevitably fall dead asleep from exhaustion. I suppose it could have worked, but I guess I like this version of the story better :)**

**At any rate, thanks once again so much for reading, and as usual ... I'd very much like to know what you think. What works ? What doesn't work ? **

**PS - please stay tuned ... there will be a chapter 6.**


	6. Chapter 6

In the morning I awaken, rested, but groggy, momentarily forgetting where I am until I turn to find the pale, muss-haired, full lipped creature behind me, snoring away like a steam engine.

The rush of excitement and emotion I experience in this moment is hard to contain.

As far as miracles refusing to cease ... _I've bloody woken up next to Tony ... _okay ? Why ? _Because Tony came back for more. _First time didn't count, really; part of the 'experiment', and all that. Second time, though ? I guess you could say it was my fault. I flush with pride when I reflect that ... I sort of drove him to it. Yes, Tony found me ... _ME_ ... against all odds and against his natural inclination, impossible to resist.

_And_ ... most miraculous, most splendiferous, most incredible of all ... the main _thing_ to me in fact ... Tony held me afterwards. He stayed ... and held me ... til we fell asleep, and through the night.

He didn't need to. It wasn't necessary. That's what keeps getting me. He didn't fucking need to.

He _chose_ to.

My heart busts wide open in my chest.

Okay yes, he was knackered; after two successive rounds of hard fucking, we both were. Which explains the falling asleep bit – we were each too drained to walk up the stairs, etc. But what it doesn't explain is the close, unnecessary spoon-cuddling. He, who _knows_ how I feel ...

Yes, okay, there can be no further use denying it. I can admit it now, to myself at least, can't I ?

I'm in love.

There, I said it.

* * *

I reach for his face, no, not _face_, but rather, this, to my eyes, immaculate, unparalleled collection of features, softly illuminated as they are by the dangling lightbulb that we never bothered to shut off, and tenderly, with a whisper touch, caress, and explore; cheeks, lips, chin, jaw, admiring the perfection along the way, and then run softly splayed fingers up into that thick head of hair, pushing it back from these exquisite eyesockets, the ones, behind which, sit two pools as deep, blue and resonant as the mighty ocean.

Tony smacks his lips, shifts slightly and mutters in a nearly indecipherable early-morning 'fuck off' groan. I pull my hand away. I smile. I won't take it personally – I doubt he even knows I'm here. At 6am, it's far too early in the morning for Tony.

Carefully, I rise, and climb off the bed.

On the corner chair, I spy our clothing, rumpled and tangled up together, as we were, last night.

I reach for his sweater, the long-sleeved black and white one with horizontal stripes; the type that really only works on someone as tall as he ... and bring it close, holding it to me, as I wish I could him, right now. I then raise it, bury my face, and ... inhale deep and slow.

Sickening, yes, but then this is how one behaves when is in love, correct ?

_Which of course, does you no good, now does it, Maxxie ?_

But ... but ... _why_ ? Is it, I mean is it _actually_ futile, this concept of Tony and I ... together ? No possible chance ? But what of the out and out miracle that has already occurred in us hooking up at all, let alone, as I define it, multiple times, now ? The odds against sex with Tony were astronomical, one need hardly argue, and so this seems a relatively small thing by comparison, doesn't it ?

He's opened up to me, remember. He's told me I'm easy to talk to- easier than girls. But ... considering the effortless time Tony has _always_ had chatting up girls, that maybe isn't saying much.

Though perhaps that's the key. Chatting up isn't exactly communicating, is it ? It's _performing_; _not_ spilling your guts, like he said he felt he was doing with me, _and could not do with a girl. _Which suggests that Tony feels comfortable with me, maybe even in a way that he never has with others ... Sid, Effy ... Michelle ?

Which is odd in a way, because he and I have never been terribly close ... and yet, we seem to have at least some semblance of a connection, having been friends these four years, and certainly more now than ever.

Maybe what's happened has happened because he's recognized himself in me in some small way. I lead a life, after all, which by definition, puts me in the minority, just being a dancer, let alone gay, and so I'm automatically 'different'. I automatically stand out, whether or not I want to. Which maybe in Tony's mind, has a certain appeal as it paints me as outside the mainstream, a bit of a rebel; perhaps even _cool_. Certainly the latter two of which, Tony personifies.

But of course, none of this means, despite the very excellent sex we've been having, that he necessarily wants to _join the club,_ let alone ... be my boyfriend.

God, I want to spit.

_Why _? Why is it always the case ? I'm not so bad, am I ? I've been called a 'catch', in fact ... once ... by, okay, a girl, and 'cute', by, yes, another girl, but a couple of guys've called me 'fit' (ironically, now that I think of it, one of them being Tony) ... and I suppose, physiologically speaking, they would be right. Like most dancers, I'm rather in excellent shape, possibly even 'buff'. And also let us not forget that just last night, Tony called me 'sexy', didn't he ? In addition to a few days ago when he said I was good looking. Must count for something.

But then ... he also called me a bitch.

In truth, when I reflect on it, I think I'd be good for him, were he to give it a go. Seriously. Not only am I in love, and so would, by definition, be someone he could look to for support and deep friendship, as well as romance, hand holding, and train loads of sex (okay, two out of the last three of which, I'm fairly sure would mean less to him than me ...), but I'm, y'know ... a nice kid, too, just lacking in confidence, a bit. I'm sincere, and loyal and a good friend – ask any of my mates. I'm creative and arty and people usually dig that. And perhaps most importantly, I'd put up with his Tony-isms, and maybe even tame him a bit in the bastard department. Christ knows he needs it.

Perhaps this has been part of the problem. Girls have always fawned and giggled over and absolutely worshiped Tony, all his goddam life, which has spoiled him something fierce, and allowed him to get away with the most obnoxious, atrocious behavior. I, by contrast, am not afraid to call him a cunt when he's being one – I did just yesterday, in fact. And ... maybe he respects me for that. Even his best friend seems intimidated and rarely if ever challenges him, and it doesn't appear to my eyes that Tony has a lot of respect for Sid. He certainly treats him like shit.

We could get a place together. Come on, we could ! I've always wanted someone to cook for. Tony could accompany me to my dance rehearsals and gigs, while I in turn attend his choir concerts and singing lessons. I could help him with his Spanish – the only subject with which he even remotely struggles, while he could do my math homework for me (as he did Jal's a half dozen times- for a fee, of course.)

Overall when you examine it, I think we complement each other pretty well. Tony is ballsy and outgoing and spontaneous, where I'm shy and reserved and spillable-to. Some would say that that establishes us as complete opposites. I would counter that opposites not only attract, but sometimes need each other to fill the gaps. Not only would we maybe rub off on each other – me taming his more dick-ish behavior, while his very presence in my life vastly increasing my self confidence, but also, Tony's chronic lack of caring a single toss what anyone thinks would translate, I'm sure, to things like his holding my hand in public, in full view of the world. And not only would no one would dare call him a 'poof', but in being his boyfriend, I'd be all but guaranteed to be gay-bash proofed.

As far as the issue of his 'coming out' as possibly bi, at least, in maybe only (I like to think) my case ... Obviously I could be a giant help there, though I'm sure Tony would simply be blunt: that it took him as much by surprise as anyone, that the sex is ripping, maybe the best he's ever had, and to go fuck themselves if they don't like it, and mind their own goddam business otherwise.

Yes. It's all very simple.

There is just the small matter, then, of making him see it my way. And in the meantime, somehow not letting on that I'm head-over-heels smitten.

* * *

Before heading upstairs to shower and change, I sit back a moment and allow myself to gaze at his beautiful slumbering form ... the hypnotic rise and fall of his chest, accompanied as it is by deep, fluttery rhythmic breaths, that lean, bumpy torso half covered by the sheet, nipples partially exposed, those big naked feet sticking out way down at the end, that long arm flung over the milk-white pillow case, contrasting so starkly with his tousled head of thick, black, hair ...

_Sigh_. This one thing, mussed-up hair, I've always found particularly alluring, I suppose because it suggests a bloke's been working out, or something; football or dancing or jogging, or at the gym, which I like. It also speaks, at least in my fantasies, of _sex_ – hair mussed about during, and then a slept-on mess afterwards. I love the idea that the world sees your man cleaned and and combed and pressed, and that only _you_ know the bum-birthmark, the cranky, stubbly, bleary-eyed awakening, the real, intimate _him_.

Which begs the question ... do I ... _can_ I possibly say I know anything of the real, intimate Tony, even at this point ?

Can one _ever_ actually know such a complex, knackering, maddening creature ?

I throw the sweater down in exasperation.

* * *

Upstairs I manage to sneak quickly into 'our' room, grab a towel and some shampoo, and head into the shower unnoticed.

While there I'm flodded of course with images of Tony's wet, soapy form ... which I immediately force from my mind lest it make me hard.

* * *

At breakfast I'm completely paranoid. Firstly because Tony isn't here, and I'm wondering what that might mean, if anything.

_Shit, relax. He's probably just sleeping in; we did have a rather late and very energetic evening, in case you forgot. _

I select a few of the least-worst looking breakfast items and move my tray along, pondering ... pondering ...

Just yesterday I went through the paranoid-horrors in this same room, ie that Tony would wake up, ignore me and pretend nothing happened – an acute case of straight boys' remorse. Am I gonna do this to myself every day ?

_What makes you think there'll BE another day, Maxxie ?_

I promptly drop my cup of tea, which shatters and spills a pool of translucent green around me. Great, just call attention to your jittery, chicken-shit, morning-after self.

An ancient, decrepit woman with a large filthy looking rag then comes round from behind the counter, looking displeased and muttering out loud. I crouch and attempt to help but she snaps at me, saying what I'm sure is the Russian equivalent of "_fuck off, wanker_". I stand, red faced.

It is at this moment that I spy _him_ entering the cafeteria from the far corner, looking sprightly and chipper in a wooly, white V-neck sweater. Little does he know it's my very favorite thing he wears.

And now comes the test.

My palms are sweaty.

My throat goes dry.

I stand stock still, heart pounding, nervously following the line of his eyes as they scan the room ... the lunch ladies ... the chalk board listing the morning's "specials" in badly botched English ... until finally they land ... those earth sized pools of what appear today to be the color of rich, weathered slate ... directly on _me_.

It's like what they say in the advice columns of crap fashion magazines, that when you see the person you know is _The One, _the electricity rockets back and forth between you, your spine turns to jelly, the muscles of your jaw involuntarily sieze, your fists relax, and your shoulders settle.

In _gay_ crap fashion magazines what I'm sure is added is that your balls tingle, flutter and swell.

Jesus, this being in love business is rough.

Before his eyes leave mine, I spy it: the corners of his mouth creeping ever upward in a warm, inviting, private grin.

My god almighty. _Only_ one of my top ten life cravings: _the slow morning-after smile. _

From here I'm not sure what to do. I'm floating, and yet my feet are rooted to the floor, waiting for Tony to sidle up next to me and speak. Just _speak_. Anything. I want to hear the honey-tones of your gravelly morning voice. And if you care to whisper something nice about last night, some tiny moment that maybe stands out in your mind, I promise I won't object.

Tony grabs a tray and approaches.

"Mornin' Mr Oliver."

I nod. I flush. My grin splits my face in two.

"Good morning, Mr Stonem."

"And how," he asks, smirking, "is our anus today ?"

My face falls. _Bastard_.

* * *

We sit down at a table containing Sid and Chris.

"_Lads,_" Chris greets.

"_Boys_," Tony nods in response.

"So," Chris asks, taking a sip of coffee, "how are the new roommates getting on, then ?"

I freeze.

Tony is of course, cool as a cucumber.

"Fine and dandy, Miles. And how is our favorite psychology teacher ?"

Chris hunkers down in place and whispers.

"Right. She fancies me. She does. So it's only a matter o' time."

Tony raises an eyebrow.

"Til ?"

"Til we _do it,_ of course, y'twat."

Sid shakes his head slowly.

"I don't think Angie's gonna fuck you, Chris."

"Shhhhh !" Chris snaps. "Christ, why don't you just run it up a flag pole !"

"Sid's got a point," Tony offers. "Personally, I don't know why _anyone'd_ fuck you, let alone-"

"-Right," Chris points, "Now you can just shut your sweet stupid trap, there Stonem, got it ?" He bites into his toast. "'Sides – I don't exactly notice _you_ gettin' any these days."

I try hard, _so_ desperately hard not to cough.

Tony doesn't hesitate.

"That's possibly because Tony does all his screwing in _private_, wanker, so you wouldn't know about it, now would you ?"

Sid, hesitant, after taking a gulp of his coke:

"Well, but ... that's not entirely true. That girl at uni, up against the tree-"

"-Two years ago, Sidney."

"But then what about ... Portsmouth, was it ? The beach. Those two blondes-"

"Ahhh," Tony sighs, "the McCormick twins." Tony kisses his own bunched up fingertips. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."

Laughter.

"At any rate," Tony continues, "I do know _someone_ at this table who is getting _p-l-e-n-t-y_." He then turns his eyes towards me.

"Ya, we know," Sid replies, bored. "The Russian bloke."

"Dead good looking, he is," Tony nods. "Huge cock."

Chris laughs and look at me.

"Ya ? Good work, mate."

Sid ponders this a moment before speaking.

"I guess I didn't realize an oversized penis was like, an um, universal, um, _thing_."

Tony turns to me and translates.

"What Sid's trying to say is that it never occurred to him that _bum_ might like _girth_ as much as _cunt_ does."

"Christ, Tone." Chris groans, "Too early in the morning for such language, surely."

Tony won't let it drop, though. He grins openly at me.

"So ... _does_ bum like it ?"

My god, is this really the man I love speaking to me like this ?

"Fuck off," I mutter.

"What I find especially intriguing though," he continues, apparently unable to help himself, "is that the bloke shaggin' Maxxie is actually _straight_."

I freeze solid. What ... what on earth compels him ?

There are laughs and snorts from the other side of the table, which makes me indescribably uncomfortable.

"Right, mate," Chris responds, "Tell us another one."

"I'm _serious_. Dead straight. Maxxie's his first boy_, ever_."

"If he's doin' Maxxie, he ain't straight, Tone," Chris retorts.

"He _is_ though."

"How in fuck would _you_ know ?"

He shrugs as if this is an every day topic of conversation, all while I sit here squirming and sweating.

"He told me. Plus, you could just _tell_. Like, total gay-dar in reverse."

Chris turns to me suddenly.

"So Maxxie, let me ask you, then: did your Russian friend seem _straight_ last night when he plugged it up your arse ?"

"Fuck off !" I snap.

"Jesus, Chris," Sid spits, "I cannot _believe_ you just said that to Maxxie."

Chris raises his hands.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry. I was merely trying to illustrate a _point_."

"Point _being_," Tony spits, "Angie'll never fuck you. Why would she ? You're thick as a post. Bloody mouth's two miles ahead of your stupid-ass brain."

"Okay, look. I said I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but my point's a valid one, right ? I think it's pretty safe to say that any bloke buggering another bloke ain't straight, even if he says he is, right ? I mean, I think that's pretty obvious." Chris raises his head and calls out to Michelle's table. "Oi, over there. What do _you _lot think ?"

"Shut _up_, for fuck's sake !" I plead, but it's too late.

"'bout what ?" Jal asks.

I shrink down in my chair, positively mortified.

"Maxxie's Russian bloke claims to be _straight, _as in, _not gay_. What're the chances o' _that_ ?"

'Chelle, Jal and even Anwar get up and walk over to us. I desperately want to strangle Tony for putting me through this. I desperately want to scream and run from the room.

"He could be, I suppose," 'chelle offers. "I've heard that teenage boys often experiment." She looks down at me. "How old is your man, Maxxie ?"

I gulp. Before I can answer, Tony does.

"17. Same age as Maxxie."

'chelle looks annoyed.

"I'm pretty sure he can answer for himself, Tony."

"Tony's an expert on the guy," Chris cracks. "Says he's got a giant dick, even."

"What," Jal cracks, "you've seen it, have you ?"

Tony shrugs.

"Didn't need to, Jal. I learned the art of crotch-watching from Michelle, here."

"Fuck off !" 'chelle snaps.

"Whatever." Jal interjects. "The question is, can a boy be straight and still fancy other boys ?"

I manage to lift my chin out of my shirt for a moment and speak haltingly.

"It's ... it's just me. I'm the only boy he's been with."

"So he _says_," Jal smirks.

"No," I shake my head, mumbling and staring down at the table, "I-I'm pretty fucking sure, there."

Suddenly the next voice belongs to Anwar. My former best friend. Fucking Anwar.

"Let's be clear. By definition, a straight guy does _not_ fancy guys, period, let alone fuck them, I mean, come on. Bloke's closeted. He's gotta be."

"Oh ?" Tony replies dryly, before I can lash out at Anwar myself, "so you're the expert on homos, are you, Anwar ? _Maybe_ the guy's just givin' it a _go_, out of, whatever, _curiosity_."

"Or maybe," Anwar retorts, "Maxxie's just the beginning of a long line of guys. Maybe he's _turned the corner."_

"Or _maybe_ he's just _experimenting_ ? Maybe he's an open friggin book. Maybe he's daring and adventurous and like, _bold - _ever think o' that ? _Doesn't make 'im a poof."_

I'm not sure how to take this. On the one hand, Tony is building himself up as a daring adventurer who doesn't play by the rules, which I suppose sort of in a way reflects positively on gay-ness. On the other hand, his continued defensive posture and insistence that everyone know that it _does not make one a 'poof' _– because, the implied message being, that would be 'bad' - is disheartening to say the least.

Chris points.

"There. Now, _there's_ an offensive term said _right_ in front of our friend and resident homosexual, here."

Tony continues, talking right over Chris, his voice rising noticeably.

"_Maybe_ he and his girlfriend have split and he's had every other girl in town as well as all the surrounding towns since he was fucking _twelve_ for fuck's sake and he's _juuuust _a little bit bored with pussy, ya ?"

_Fucking raving lunatic ! Just go ahead and spell it out in perfect motherfucking detail, why don't you ? _

"Well if that's the case," Sid offers, "he's just using Maxxie, then. Which is wrong."

"Whatever, Sid," Tony mutters, exasperated, rolling his eyes.

Michelle and Jal nod.

"It is. He shouldn't," the former offers.

"Maybe they're both just living in the freakin moment, y'know ?" Tony retorts. "I mean, what is this, the Taliban ? Maybe they're just both gettin off and enjoyin themselves, right ? Nothin wrong with that."

"Nah," Sid adds, "the guy's using 'im. And he's in the closet."

Enough ! I can't take it any longer.

"No, he's-he's not," I blather. "I-I don't mind either way. It-it doesn't make any difference to me how he labels himself as far as straight or gay or whatever." I then blurt out the one fact I've kept from every single person in my life for three solid years. (Is this what being in love with Tony is going to do to me ?)

"I slept with a girl, once."

All of the air leaves the room. The hum of the kitchen behind us goes quiet, even – apparently the lunch ladies are listening in.

"It didn't make me straight," I add, as if that needs to be said.

All eyes are on me, though I can scarcely meet them. Of course both Chris and Anwar have to then reach out and punch me in the shoulder and tell me things like they "didn't know I had it in me" or some such assinine, absolutely insulting rubbish, which only serves to tell me that I'm apparently now more 'normal', maybe even more _human_, in their eyes.

It's _so_ fucking hard not to hate straight people sometimes.

* * *

Christ. Why did I admit to it ? A thing I find particularly humiliating for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that it was the low point in a brief but very intense period in which I was convinced I could_ actually_ _make myself 'straight'. _

Why would I attempt something so foolish ? Me, who began having crushes on various members of the male species, be they teacher, neighbor, fellow student, professional athlete, or movie star, from the age of 5 ?

Okay, well try walking a day in my then 14-year old body to maybe find the answer. Try living with being bullied by the macho jocks at school ... With abject terror at coming out to your family – of telling them who you actually are ... With having friends abandon you for fear of good old fashioned 'guilt by association' ... Try fighting the human animal's innate, primal desire, that unquenchable need we all have to simply _belong_, to _fit in._

My having slept with a girl is incredibly uncomfortable, if not disturbing to me in the same way that it would be for a straight guy to admit he had once slept with a man. One has to remember that the world sees everything through a straight prism – my admission to having once had straight sex being, in _het_ eyes, nothing at all to be ashamed of, as it is considered a step towards 'normal', while to me it felt as _ab_normal and unnatural, as awkward, uncomfortable and _wrong_ as if I'd slept with my own mother.

Which makes me understand, but again, not feel terribly good about Tony's straight-guy defensiveness all through this conversation. _And_ which makes me feel bad all over again that in fucking her, I took advantage of my friend Sarah's crush, and so, I guess, used her in the process.

"So what happened ?" Tony says, looking at me with nervous eyes.

I fidget. I hesitate, knowing that my answer will likely make him uneasy, or worse.

"It just ... it just, it didn't really, um _work_, at least not for me, I mean it _worked, _I suppose, _technically_, but I didn't really, y'know, _enjoy_ it very much, plus, I mean, ... I have no idea what to do with tits, (laughter) ... so I guess it, um ... y'know, confirmed for me what I knew all along - that I'm definitely gay."

There is a brief pause, after which Chris, smiling, says:

"Of course. Otherwise, you would've liked it. Which begs the question, has your Russian bloke been, like, _likin_' it ?"

Oh god. This is unbearable. My eyes shoot briefly to Tony.

"Um ..."

Michelle jumps right in, bless her.

"Don't answer that. Haven't we invaded Maxxie's private life enough for one day, guys ?"

I breathe out an uneasy sigh.

She looks down at me.

"Except for one thing - what's your man's name ? You've never said."

I stumble a moment, completely caught off guard, not even _thinking_ before I blurt:

"Tony, er _Antonio_."

Tony shift visibly in his seat.

"Antonio ?" Jal asks. "Weird. Doesn't sound Russian."

"Ya," I scramble, "well his um, his um, his family, um-"

"-His mother's Italian," Tony quickly interjects, glaring at me.

* * *

And so, for the rest of the day ...

Tony completely ignores me.

Yes, I've simply disappeared from his radar. Might truly as well be in another universe, in fact.

Something which, two and a half days ago, would not have been on my list of things to be upset over, let alone, serve as my worst possible heartbreak/nightmare.

Clearly, the morning's cafeteria conversation cemented it for him. To _like_ fucking Maxxie is to potentially _be_ _like_ Maxxie, otherwise, you don't _like_ it, do you ? And so the straight boy must cut all ties, immediately, and for good.

In 'our' room, before I realize what has happened, I ask him.

"What was that all about ?"

He doesn't look at me. His voice is cold and dismissive.

"What was _what_ all about ?"

"What do you think ? Why did you go on like that – dangling it under everyone's nose and then getting all defensive, which was frankly kind of insulting." I move closer to him, reach out a soft hand, and whisper. "Do you think it matters to me one bit whether you're straight or gay ?"

He snaps. He jerks back.

"Are you _nuts_ ? I am _not_ fucking _gay_ ! What – you think you can turn me into your little _poof boyfriend _just like that?_ Not a chance. _Go ahead and wank off all day to that image, Maxxie, cuz _it ain't gonna happen_, understand ?"

With that, he storms off, leaving me stunned, shattered, breathless.

Christ, the pain … it washes over me … wave after unceasing wave … _unbearable_. _Why_ ? _Why did I do this to myself_ ? It hurts _so much_, in every conceiveable way – a total blow to my ego (what little I had), a shredding of my heart, a massive throbbing migraine along the lines of a brain tumor, this heavy, queasy gut; this feeling that I'm suffocating, that I'm on the verge of a panic attack. And then the self-loathing of the like I've never experienced – aided and abetted by this constantly running track in my head, this endless internal critical lecture ...

What the fuck did you expect ? It's Tony ! He's a bastard – you knew it all along, don't pretend you didn't - and yet you were _actually_ astronomically _stupid_ enough to let yourself fall in love with him ? I have _no_ _sympathy_ ! Entertaining dreams of – living together ? Cooking for him ? You stupid, pathetic loser ! Seriously ! You're an embarrassment – to yourself, to gay men everywhere. _This_ is why we _don't_ fall for straight, homophobic arseholes !

_He's not homophobic._

Oh no ? Let's rewind and watch the het-boy run like the wind from each and every inference that he might possible be gay, a "_poof"_ - a term he seems genuinely fond of.

_He kissed me. He french kissed me. He held me. He sucked my dick. _

Hope you enjoyed it – he sure as fuck ain't doing _that_ again. _Total_ mistake. Total _embarrassment_ for him. Something he will _never, ever_ admit to in a million years.

I stare at the blank wall as the tears roll down my cheeks.

_Is it so shameful, really ?_

To motherfuckers like Tony ? Yes. Of course.

* * *

On the bus to the day's activity they are forcing us to attend which I tried desperately but was unable to wiggle my way out of - a lecture on Russian history at a local university- I sit, numb from shock, from the pain riddling my body, withering my soul.

Tony sits several rows ahead, quietly staring out the window, undoubtedly sizing up every Russian girl we pass so as to cleanse all memory of the last two days.

* * *

In the facility there is, of course, there _has_ to be – fate has seen to it – a pretty, built blonde girl at the coat check who takes an immediate shine to Tony, right in front of me.

I can't watch. I feel truly ill, on the verge of nausea as I hear them giggle and whisper to each other, her broken English undoubtedly making her even more appealing, even more _fuckable_ to him.

Christ. How _could_ he be such a rotting bastard when, again, _he knows how I feel_ ? He _knows_ I'm standing right here ? Do I not matter to him in the least ?

Thank Christ I didn't actually tell him – there is at least that one tiny mercy – though of course, he knew. Tony's a lot of things, but he's not stupid.

We file into the hall. Everyone is chatty and jokey, including Tony.

I, by contrast, feel exactly like I'm falling off a cliff in slow motion.

The place is crowded with uni students so there isn't a whole lot of room and ironically, I find myself sitting next to, of all people, Anwar, due to it being the only available aisle seat. Why aisle seat ? Because I'm going to run from here and throw up any minute.

I lose track of Tony – he's purposedly placed himself somewhere far from me.

I'm numb, that's mostly what it is. Whole body. A tourniquet's been strapped round my heart; the blood flow has absolutely been strangled into ceasing.

A film is being shown on some aspect of Russian history, not that I see it – my eyes are in permanent blank-stare mode, my mind too busy circling itself, scrambling.

_He held me ... all night ... I woke up this very morning in his arms … Does that count for nothing ? He has to know this is killing me, that I'm humiliated – devastated. I'm his friend. How can he treat me like this, toss me away like I actually don't matter, like he hates me, like I don't exist ? How can he be so unspeakably cruel ? I didn't do anything to him. All I did was like him. All I did was care._

I get up. It's stifling in here. I can't breathe. Anwar doesn't seem to notice, nor care. How incredibly awful this trip has been, how unceasingly costly to me - not only the Tony catastrophe, but the loss of my best friend, the one person I right now need so desperately to be able to spill my guts to.

I quietly exit into the school's hallway and wander slowly, aimlessly round, head spiraling in pain, eventually making my way towards the back where, to my horror, fate having once again chosen to torture me ... I hear it ... the unmistakeable sounds of Tony on the other side of some door to a broom closet, maybe, grunting and pounding away into some gasping, moaning female.

I'm frozen in place, disbelieving the horror visiting my ears and yet I have reason to know just exactly what he sounds like, don't I ? There can be no mistaking that it's Tony, wildly turned on and ramming that giant cock into a happily yielding hole. Yes, there is simply no other sound like it in the world.

Did the conniving bastard actually bring condoms with him to this lecture, I think bitterly, or is he doing her bareback ? Why give a shit if she gets pregnant, after all - you're leaving the fucking country in a few days, never to return.

I fucking hope she does. _Triplets_.

My stomach pitches and twists as I listen to them and yet I can't make myself move from the door.

_Run, Maxxie. Go outside. Now. You must get some air. _

I can't. I can't. Absolutely frozen with shock, grief, despair.

There is then a sudden gruff cry from behind the door, followed by a silence – just a super-quickie, after all.

My eyes well, and spill over. God, it's just … unbearable to know that Tony has just come inside someone else, a complete stranger, someone he doesn't even know or care about. Someone who doesn't love him. Not that it matters to him in the least – it's _pussy_.

I hear the doorknob, panic and begin to move quickly away, but it's too late, Tony is exiting the closet – strangely fitting, that – and short of running away from them, which I'm not about to do, I can't make myself disappear fast enough not to be seen by them.

Yes, the fates absolutely _loathe_ me.

Despite my red, wet face, I turn, it can't be helped ... and it's the blonde, as I knew it would be. Fucking perfect, pretty little blue-eyed, big-titted Russian _slut_.

"Nice work, Tone," I snap, it's simply impossible not to lash out, "a genuine fucking _tart_."

He laughs. He's flushed and still slightly out of breath. Cruelest of all, his hair is mussed up.

She looks at me with hard eyes, having apparently recognized that 'tart' is not a complement.

Tony wraps an arm round her and gestures towards me.

"Don't worry. It's only Maxxie. He's just jealous."

She gives him a confused look.

"He's a _poof_," he explains, "a _queer,_" he adds, holding out an exaggerated limp wrist. "And he's madly in love with me."

She hesitates, looks at me, and then covers her mouth and giggles as it all comes together.

Next I know, I'm in kneeling in the bathroom over the bowl, vomiting up my guts.

* * *

"_You have to, dad,_" I bawl into the phone, back in the tv room of our empty hotel, having convinced them to let me cab it back here due to the migraine, "it's an _emergency !_"

"Calm down, Maxxie; what's happened ?"

I can't. I can't admit to it. It's too awful. Too raw.

"Something really bad, dad. I can't tell you. Tony-"

He leaps on this. He's always disliked Tony.

"-What did Tony do ? You _know_ I'll kill him."

"_Nothing_. _Please_, I'm begging you -_ I need to come home_, _now_."

"Maxxie, you _have_ to tell me what's wrong. Are you sick ? Are you hurt ?"

"_Yes_ !" I blurt into the phone sobbing away.

"What happened ? You didn't get bashed again ?"

I wipe down my face.

"_No_. It's not anything ... physical, dad, I promise. And I'm not sick. It's _worse_ than that. I'm ... really, _really_ upset. I wanna come home. _Please_. I _have_ to leave here."

"Maxxie, if you don't tell me what it is-"

"-_Please_ dad, it's ... _humiliating_. I did something really, incredibly stupid. I made a mistake, a _huge_, awful, horrendous mistake, even though I knew better, and it's just ... unbearable. It hurts _so_ much."

"Something to do with a boy ?"

Dad knows me well.

"_Yes_."

He pauses, waiting patiently while I sob and wail into the phone.

"Maxxie, you know I love you more than anything in this world, right ?"

God, he is just the best.

"Yes."

"So then I want you to listen to me about this. You are strong. You're bright, and talented, and good looking, even. And you're _gay_. You have all _that_ going for you-"

Feeling so bitter and confused and low, I blurt.

"-How exactly is being a _queer_ a positive, dad ? A _poof_ ? Please tell me. I need to know right now."

He's impatient and sharply cuts me off.

"Don't you _ever_ let me hear you use language like that again, Maxxie, understand ? You are _gay_, and that is just one of the things that makes you special, and unique and more importantly – we've talked about this a million times – _you have to be stronger and tougher than the straights, _don't you ? Just in your every day life. Just to survive and be who and what god made you. And you _are_. I'm so proud of you, son. I always have been. You kick the straight boys' arses just by _existing_ – you _know_ they couldn't last 5 minutes in your shoes. You _know_ that's true. So let's have none of this nonsense."

I feel better. I do. Dad's little speeches always work. But I still feel like I want to die.

"You're right." I sniffle. "Does it make me weak if I still wanna come home, though ?"

He laughs softly.

"Of course not. You're human, you're a long way from home and you're upset. Anyone would feel that way, but Maxxie, I'm sorry, we just can't afford it - you know that. We barely scraped enough together to send you to Russia. I can't fly you home early."

Even though I know this – it's not like I imagined my family suddenly had any extra cash, my heart still absolutely plummets.

"I'm sorry. It's only a few more days, son. You'll be home on Sunday."

I sniffle into the phone, depressed, despondent, but holding it together for my dad.

"Okay." My voice sounds tiny and weak.

"Listen to me," he whispers. "You will find another boy-"

"-_But_ _I'm in love with him, dad !"_

"Maxxie, he's hurt you this badly and it's _only been two days_ ! Come on, you _can't_ have met the love of your life in two days ! Does he even speak English ?"

Phew. Somehow dad's missed that it's Tony, even though I stupidly blurted his name up front.

"No," I lie, "not really."

He laughs into the phone.

"Then he must be gorgeous."

"Yes," I say, trying to laugh, but not managing to.

"I love you, Maxxie. Me and your mum. We're so proud of you. You're strong and smart. Tough as nails. Remember that."

I smile sadly. A tear drops onto my cheek.

"Thanks, dad. I love you, too."

* * *

_**Author's note: God, it made me sad writing this ! I love Maxxie, and I hated doing this to him – it hurt down to my toes - but I felt it was inevitable. I'm glad he at least had his dad to support him.**_

_**Thanks as always for reading. As always, feedback is GREATLY appreciated ! **_

_**PS: This is not the end of the story. There will be a chapter 7.**_


	7. Chapter 7

I hang up the phone, and sit a moment. Dad is brilliant. He's lovely, but as far as being tough as nails ... I don't feel so bloody tough.

I feel ... stunned. Numb. Despondent. _Mortified_. Stupid. _So_ fucking stupid, for doing this so myself, for letting myself get carried away on a romantic fluffy cloud. For building up Tony – _Tony!_ - into something he will never be – he's incapable of it – a sensitive soul, but also, one with actual balls. The irony being, Tony thinks he's the top man, certainly everyone treats him that way, but what I've just learned is exactly what a tiny, shivering, fearful little rodent he is.

Think about it. A pack of his friends hint that he might possibly fit into a less than popular category, or maybe 'popular' isn't the word these days, as in some circles, we gays are certainly _hip_, but let's say, a category of people that are still oftentimes maligned, discriminated against, hassled, beaten, ridiculed, etc.

So ... now, why would anyone want to be accused of being part of such a group ? Hell, maybe even _I_ wouldn't want to, but you know what ? Living a lie, _especially when you have the kind of power that Tony has_, is _lame_. Needless. So fucking _old_. Not that I think he's full fledged gay, because I certainly don't – he isn't worthy of us – I think he _was_ just exploring, but also ... I'm _so_ not into labels. I'm into what works and what comes naturally; I'm into letting your heart _speak, _and screw categories. _Screw_ what people think.

Time and again I've noticed it: that how a person reacts to the world's knowledge or even just perception that they're gay, speaks volumes. It's one of the things, I think, that genuinely separates the men from the boys. And Tony today has ably demonstrated which category he belongs to.

* * *

I stand, make my way to the loo, splash ice water on my face, blow my snot-nosed nose, and stare into the mirror.

My eyes are red, veiny, and puffy, and as I go to straighten, my sides ache both from the sobbing and the throwing up.

Fuck, am _I_ a man, or a boy ? Okay ... well at 17, I guess I'm a bit in between, but shit, I hate it ! I _hate_ that in two days' time, The Bastard has managed to reduce me to a blithering, projective-vomiting _infant_.

But then ... don't I maybe have an excuse ? _You_ try having your number one dream man go from a distant, unattainable fantasy, to aggressively pursuing you, fucking you, holding you, staying with you through the night, calling you sexy and dazzling you with that morning-after smile, only to, within the hour, have him not only dump you, but publicly ridicule you as well.

I clench my fists and lean against the wall, willing the hot, angry tears to stay back. I take a very deep breath and look off.

Perhaps in some small way I'm partly to blame ... the inevitable consequence of letting my heart, as usual, rule me. Dad and I have talked about this a lot – heart versus head. He says that the world is the way it is, full of war and violence and cruelty and senselessness, because everyone for some reason still worships the macho ideal, which, by definition, ridicules and disrespects the heart, doesn't it ? Something that maybe would have made sense back in caveman times, ie the toughest, most competitive, perhaps cruelest, cunningest bastards being more likely to snag the animal that would prove the week's meal.

Today, though ? Too tough to cry, and all that bullshit ? Fucking senseless neanderthals. Pansies in reverse.

_Senseless. _Good word for it – the heart is a sense organ, if anything, is it not ?

So anyway, yes, I can be emotion-driven. After all, I _do_ fall under the umbrella of _arty, _and we can tend to be that way. We definitely feel things deeply; we _have_ to, in order to do what we do. Trust me, dancing _is_ emoting; raw and real. It's ripping open your insides and baring your soul, laying it absolutely naked for the world. Think that ain't _tough_ ? Think it doesn't take _guts_ ?

But, okay, perhaps I'm slightly off balance. Maybe it's time to honor the _head_ side of me and give it equal time. Perhaps take a cue from The Bastard Formerly Known as Tony.

Also, while I know I shouldn't give a toss, I _do_ hate fulfilling ignorant people's ideas of gay stereotypes, ie, the soft hearted crying little pansyboy.

_Shit_. I wander a moment and punch the wall. _Fuck_ them ! I take back what I said about arty types. I _refuse_ to try to fit into someone's idea of how I'm supposed to behave based on how I identify myself, sexually, or in any other way, be it that I'm young, male, white, English, poor, a dancer, _whatever_. I _am_ the way that I am, part pansyboy, perhaps, but also a right tough cracker when I need to be, and that's the way it fucking well _is_. Well rounded, I'll call it.

Certainly I'm proud of the fact that I've been _out_ for three solid years, firstly, which, even in these supposedly more enlightened times, remains no easy feat. I've stood up to more than a few poof bashers; both directed at me, and others. Got the shit kicked out of me a few times, yes, but I also gave it back good and swift.

I'm proud, too, that despite my shyer nature, I've joined my school's gay/straight alliance, and helped two kids come out to their families and in one case, best friend, which believe me, calls, in a _major_ way, on both heart _and_ guts.

Maybe heart _is_ guts, y'know ? When did someone come up with the idea that feeling things was a sign of weakness ? Shit - it's the only way I've ever gotten anything done. You think _head_ is behind anything creative at all, let alone things like intensive 6 hour dance rehearsals and difficult, intricate stage moves ? You think that when I helped gather signatures and twice picketed outside of a company after it was revealed that their owner donated huge sums to a rabidly anti-gay group that, in it's literature, defined homosexuality as a _disease, _that the motivation there, the fury and _rage_ behind it came from anywhere other than my guts and soul, ie my _heart_ ?

So, _up_ with the old fashioned H word, I say. Mum says since I was little I've worn mine on my sleeve, anyway. I'm determined, though, that I can honor my emotions, and still be tough and 'male' and kick your arse down the street. Just watch me. I shall long every moment for a real boyfriend, even as I'm cruising the strip.

Speaking of which ...

* * *

I stand outside it a moment, afraid to walk in there, into the room where The Bastard and I first touched.

_Tough as nails ..._

Okay, deep breath ... _go. _I ignore his side of the room, pretending it's not there, and go for my duffel bag, buried somewhere within which is a small, handwritten drawing, a map, to be used in cases of emergency, which just happens to show the route leading in the general direction of the only supposed gay hangout, possibly bar, for many, many miles around, this not exactly being Moscow. The place is unofficial, of course, little more than a rumour, but then that's not surprising out here in the sticks. All I know is it was mentioned on some gay travel blog or gossip site or something; can't recall.

I sit on the bed, fold up the map, and tuck it into my pocket. There directly ahead of me – I don't want to even look - is Tony's gear: neatly folded socks, neatly folded striped sweaters, perfectly made bed, and some paperback by the pillow.

I get up, not able to help my curiosity, and peer in at the title.

_Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit. _

Right. The Bastard reading about lesbians, as if he was interested in gay rights or what queers might think. Undoubtedly only reading it for the sex scenes.

I say it out loud: _"Fuck you, Tony ! Just ... fuck you, hetero-pussy-prick !"_

Christ, that felt good. I totally wanna say it to his face. Maybe I will, later.

I take it, the book, and toss it into the rubbish. _Don't be readin' about us, Tone, if the thought of poofdom poses such a big motherfucking threat to you._

My heart clenches suddenly ... my eyes well ... _christ, it hurts, still_ ...

How can you feel it so _intensely_, how can it all be in there inside you at the same time: rage and pain and fury and hatred ... _and love_ ?

"No !" I snap, snarling into the room. "I do _not_ love him !"

Not anymore.

I stand quickly. I take several deep breaths. Far as I'm concerned, I'm coming back here tonite with the _real_ Antonio – a big, strapping Russian bloke who will pound me through the mattress, or rather, I, he. Yes, if ever there was an occasion for Maxxie to _top_, it's _this_. Might even let Tony watch.

Right. Two can play this game. If The Bastard, in an apparent effort to immediately re-establish his sexuality, literally shagged the first piece of arse that came within his sights, then that is what I'm going to do. No question, it's high time to sample some good stiff Russian _cock_, which, if eastern bloc porn videos are any example, should alone, be worth the trip.

* * *

Along the way – I'm walking as the cold air will do me good and I really don't have money for another cab ride, I repeatedly consult this rumpled makeshift map and somehow manage to find my way to the campus in about 40 minutes or so. Now it's to approach people – girls only, I've decided; it's just safer that way.

The first set are friendly but don't speak any English. The second set speak some English, but have no idea where the building might be, nor if there is such a building. Unfortunately I don't have a proper address, just a very general location, and an apparent nickname, I gather; something along the lines of "Clubvolt" or Voltclub", but who knows if that's even right. And I'm not about to say it out loud to complete strangers, again, just for safety reasons, this not exactly being north London.

Once again, I feel a surge of het-hatred. You think they _ever_ have to sneak round for a nightspot, being sure not to utter it's name, for fear of violence ?

The third set of girls prove more helpful, with one of them nodding and pointing directly to a taller building in the near distance. I smile, thank them, and head off.

By the time I arrive, I _badly_ need a drink, both to warm up, and calm my frigging nerves. No, I don't have a lot of cruising experience – I have barely any, in fact, as I find the whole idea completely unnerving, but I'm determined to give it a go. I'm determined to fuck somebody tonite, to lose myself in the pleasure, to erase _all_ memory of that cunt Stonem. Who knows ? Maybe my type is considered the ideal, in Russia. Okay, maybe not, but how else will I find out ? Either way, as The Bastard said the other day, _what goes in Russia, stays in Russia. _

* * *

I enter the building, nervous out of my mind, and unsure exactly where to go. It's not like there are any signs or bloody rainbow flags. Everywhere, young people mill about, carrying books and talking on mobiles, no different from home.

I pull out the map again, trying not to look too much like I don't belong, and spy a note I made for myself, on the reverse side, that I'd totally missed til now: "basement". Apparently the place is downstairs.

* * *

By contrast to upstairs, downstairs is very, very quiet, and basically empty. Fuck. I do rather like this idea in my head of pounding music and flashing lights; of a lively room churning with beautiful men, all of whom turn to take in the sight of the _new boy_.

I continue down the hall, trying a few doors, which are locked, wondering if this is all just a ruse. The first one that isn't locked, turns out ironically to be the boiler room. I shut that door tight and continue. It's a huge basement, with a long series of narrow hallways, none of which is terribly well lit. Round and _way_ down one corner I detect a smell of smoke. I approach, open an unlabeled door, and ... voila ... _Voltclub_. Which ... sad to say does not live up to it's name (_volt_ having made me think of _voltage, _or_ wattage, _suggesting the place might be, like, _electric_.)

So what is Voltclub ? An old flickering telly with the sound down and about 5 or 6 blokes scattered about holding beers and smoking. No music. No dancing. No bar. No windows. Just a stuffy, dank, dreary and harshly lit place where the few _out_ men on campus can meet in private – hidden from the world's prying eyes.

Who knows if these lads are even gay, though. Okay, there's no women, but this could be a meeting of sci fi geeks for all I can tell, or a divorced men's book club or something, but then ... those groups don't tend to feel the need to hide themselves away, now do they ?

All eyes in the room do turn to me, I can say that. I flush and am hit with a huge wall of nervousness. It suddenly strikes me that I'm by myself in a foreign country in which I don't speak the language, barely know the customs, nor where I really am, and honestly, _I don't wanna be fucking a complete stranger_ – I'm not in the mood ! It's like I'm outside myself _making_ myself do this. And why ? Because of that motherfucker Tony !

_No ! Not because of Tony – because it's your perfect right as a young single gay man to seek COCK._

_Okay, yes ... but ... there's not even anyone here I fancy !_

In an instant, I am hit hard in the back – by the door behind me, which opens into the room and which I'd stupidly been standing directly in front of, like a complete wanker.

The bloke who emerges from the other side approaches with an apologetic laugh and says something to me in Russian which I'm sure is an inquiry into whether I'm hurt, which I'm not, though I can't actually tell him as it immediately becomes clear that he speaks no English. I resort to nodding, smiling, and giving him the 'okay' sign, hoping that this gesture is not somehow the Russian equivalent of 'fuck you'.

He smiles back; big, broad and handsome, walks to the other end of the room, and then emerges from behind a half wall with a can of something called Baltika, which turns out to be strong, dark Russian beer, as well as some miniature bottles of clear liquid which turn out to be, of course, vodka.

I accept both and swig 'em right down.

Well shit- is it too late to take back what I said ? He's tall and a bit beefy, not gorgeous but he'll certainly do, and has nice, large dark eyes and a thick head of hair, were he to let it grow out from it's unfortunate buzz cut. (_Why do men insist on doing this ? A total dishonoring of their beauty. I hate it almost as much as I hate goatees._)

We struggle to communicate, of course, and he smokes like a chimney the whole time, which I hate, but I learn, as far as I can tell, that he's at uni studying marketing of all things. Of course, I could have it completely wrong. Probably he's the dean of the medical college. Or the janitor.

I manage to half gesture and draw on my map that I'm English (as if he couldn't tell from my accent), and in town on a school road trip for just a few days. Yes, it comes out before I stop it – as forward a statement of intent as I've maybe ever made. A little risky, as I still have no clue in the world if where we are standing is any sort of gay hangout, or simply the building's smoking lounge.

It's funny, what they say about the 'universal language', though, no ? As we can't really verbally communicate, we are each relying to an extent on _vibes_, and I'm getting good ones from him, and more importantly _gay_ ones, far as I can tell.

Fuck. Can't believe it. Well, once in a while things have to go my way, right ?

He nods, seeming to have gotten the gist, his smile fades, and his eyes remain on me. Which could be read as a come on, a sign of pending aggression, or a simple lack of understanding of what I said.

Christ, this is maddening.

I nervously swig down a second vodka and am really beginning to feel it.

His eyes remain unmoving, though, and after a beat, he leans towards me. I freeze, unsure of what to expect. He then whispers some phrase, most of which is greek, to me, of course, except at the close of it is a poorly pronounced English word which I don't understand right away, until it finally clicks: _"con-dom" ... _said like two separate words and spoken with a question mark at the end of it.

Which of course is pretty fucking cool and exciting, but also strikes me as odd if this is indeed a gay male pick up spot. Nobody comes to such things, surely, who isn't packing rubber.

At any rate, I nod and boldly point to my right pocket. He leans back, and that's apparently decided it, for in another minute we are walking out the same door that hit me.

* * *

Where we are walking _to_, I don't know, which is a little unnerving, I mean, this guy _is_ a complete stranger to me, but then ... that is the nature of cruising, Maxxie, is it not ? The straights call it singles' bars and 'one night stands' – but it's all the same.

Round the corner, up two flights and we're in his place, which looks like any typical dorm room. So, not the dean, then.

Fuck, can't believe how easy this was. And how fucking nervous I am.

He shuts the door behind us, smiles beautifully, mutters something in Russian, and then me and this utter stranger are kissing. It's a bit rough; bloke hasn't shaved in a coupla days and so is scratching me to shit, but it's otherwise ... _interesting_, I guess, though a bit, I don't know ... clumsy, awkward, or something. Nothing compared to Tony.

_Maxxie you aresehole, shut UP ! _

-_Okay_, but ... well that was quick – he's removed a condom from my pocket, turned me round to face the door and is unceremoniously yanking down my trousers. How to communicate that it was _me_ who had intended to top ? But ... oh well. It _is_ his flat and, well ... his _country_, I suppose. I'd just wish he'd go a little slower. I just wish I knew his fucking name.

He fingers me, too quick and shallow for my liking, and then spits on his hand, always a bad sign (too impatient to go for the lube despite how much better it will be for both of us ? _Or_ is it either that you forgot where it was, which means you never get any, versus that you've run out, meaning you get it too much ?)

Just as I feel the blunt object beginning to press inward, I hear myself blurt.

_"Um, wait. Wait a second. W-what was your name again_ ?"

Which of course, he does not understand, and so he plunders inward.

I gasp, and grip the door frame. Okay, he's no Stonem, but without proper prep, even a pencil dick hurts.

I speak into the door.

"_Wait. Seriously. Just a second. I need a sec-_-"

Which again goes misunderstood and so, ignored.

Why does he not stop and at least wonder what message I'm trying to convey ?

Inconsiderate fuck.

Thankfully my body quickly adjusts, however, and I'm beginning to enjoy the sensation of being seized and filled. He can certainly swing his hips, though can't hold a candle to-

_-Don't think about it !_

Okay, yes, god, it's so hard not to compare, though ... to realize how just much bigger, how much smoother and _better_-

_-Arrrghhhhhhh ! _

He grips my hips and comes at me from a slightly different angle now, which feels good. I turn my head sharply to the side, signifying that I want to be kissed. There is something so insanely hot about kissing while fucking – the tension inherent in lips closing over one another only to be forced apart as you each pant and grunt – however the bloke doesn't take the hint, doesn't move to kiss me and as far as any grunting, there is none. In fact, he makes no sound at all, which is so weird, and like, unnatural, and also, I realize, a turnoff. I _want_ to hear animal sounds coming from a man – it's part of the excitement, part of the _package_ - gasps and groans and little whispered dirty words that make their way to his lips because he can't help himself – you've driven him to it.

As he continues, my own involuntary noises escalate, which he quickly attempts to muffle with his big brutish hand, something I admit I've pictured a few times in my more swashbuckling Johnny Depp fantasies … however in this instance, the knowledge that it is merely to silence me so that he can remain closeted sort of kills the magic.

Just as I'm processing this thought, he, the bloke behind me, whatever his name is, speeds up, though it can't touch that unmentionable person for _torque,_ and then apparently, a few seconds later, comes, I gather, because he stops suddenly - not that he makes a single bloody noise which would indicate orgasm. He's breathing slightly hard, that's it. Less than if he'd taken a moderately easy stroll round the park.

He then promptly pulls out. I turn, glance downward, unable to help myself, and yes, there is something white-ish in the tip of the condom, so I guess it worked for him. I, however, am only marginally hard and rather gloomy and unsatisfied. Worse, he makes no move at all to toss me or suck me off or let me return the favor – he's pulling his trousers right up. I was clearly just a momentary vessel.

Quickly my hard-on wilts.

Okay, to be fair, it was nice; it felt good – when doesn't an ass fuck feel like a million quid ? Well, honestly ... this one didn't. Tiny, scrawny, and yes, ugly penis + no kissing during + a lack of lube + the whole thing being over in approximately 20 seconds = maybe a few dozen rubles.

In silence I pull up my own trousers and try not to look at him, this complete stranger; not a terribly great feeling. He, meanwhile, seems suddenly agitated, anxious and rushed, almost hostile. I get the sense that someone is due to be coming to this room any second, a roommate, maybe, or boyfriend, who will wonder just exactly who in hell the blonde English kid is.

Wow. How fucking depressing. Why did I even bother ? Can _nothing_ go right for me in the sexual department ? Aside from all the incredible sex with you-know-who ?

I slump in place. Is this The Bastard's curse ? That I'll go the rest of my life _comparing_ ?

* * *

"What is your name ?" I ask, even though I know it doesn't matter. He very gentlemanly, if quite hurriedly, has walked me out, even if it does turn out to have been via the building's nearly hidden rear exit.

I point to my chest when he doesn't respond.

"_Maxxie_."

"Moxie ?"

No, I shake my head, and smile. "_Maxxie_."

"Maxxie", he says back to me. His grins in a weird way, in a way I sort of recognize but it doesn't immediately click. His whole face changes, in fact, and then he takes my arm. For a second I think he's going to kiss me, which would at least put a more pleasant ending on this wholly disappointing affair ... however he doesn't. Instead he leans in and says something that for the first time all day, I understand perfectly.

"_Faggot_ ?"

I take a step back, but he follows.

"_What_ ?" I ask, completely taken aback

"Faggot," he confirms, and pounds me in the face.

* * *

In an instant I'm down – there's no contest - he's got 5 inches, and about 2 stone on me, and he's kicking; legs, arms, ribs, arse, even. Christ, what a genuine day from hell – a swift and thorough dumping followed by something so unforeseen and inexplicable, I'm convinced it must be a movie. What is spinning my head round is not only the knowledge that I could die right here and never be discovered – I stupidly have no ID on me – but that me and this unnamed brute _have_ _just had sex._ Yes. Let's review. Brings me a drink. Inquires as to condoms. Walks me to his flat. Fucks me. _Comes_. And so ... what in all hell am I to make of this, I wonder, as I grab hold of the foot swinging toward me and yank the motherfucker down.

What is it ? A mentally unstable closet case ? (Long term bouts of which do tend to make one crazy.) A case of self loathing so extreme that anything stirring up or reminding him of his shameful sexual identity must then be punished ? Am I, to him, like a female in burqa country – blamed and beaten for tempting him ? Held responsible for someone else's libido ?

I land over him, punching, and kneeling on his balls as I yell in his face.

"_Faggot ! Yes ! Faggot ! Is that what you are ! Whatsa matter ? Can't handle it ?_"

He throws me off him and kicks me hard in the dead center groin and I _yelp_ out in pain, there really is no other feeling like it in the world, and just then my saviours appear – a group of uni girls who drag the freak off me, shouting at him in Russian and collectively pushing and hitting him.

It's shortly thereafter that I pass out.

* * *

_**Author's note: **_Poor Maxxie. I love him and struggled with these two chapters quite a bit, (which was originally going to be one chapter but it got too long), due to among other things, trying to explain his upset over Tony's treatment of him in chapter 6, without making him too defensive, but I don't know if I succeeded there. I want Maxxie to be a modern man - okay with crying and emotions, and also ready to kick arse when necessary - as he says, 'well rounded'. Overall, as a straight female, all through this story I struggle with trying to be true to the voice of a gay teenage male without resorting to stereotypes, and I hope I succeed, but I would love to hear from any gay readers as to your opinion there.

Also, for any British readers out there - can you help me out with the slang word which would stand in for the American term "guys", when referencing a group of people which includes females? Just send me a PM or pop it into a review. Thanks !

I don't know if they even have 'gay/straight alliances' in England, ie I mean I'm sure they must have a version of it, but by a different name.

_Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit_ is actually the book featured in Skins that they have Tony reading in the Russian episode, which is actually about lesbians.


	8. Chapter 8

Before opening my eyes, I have no idea where I am, other than a room with bright lights, and I momentarily imagine I'm at home in my own bed, mum having laid out a nice lunch for me including my favorite sweet tea.

I go to crack open a lid, just a tiny bit, puzzled to find that it hurts to do so, and the face before me is not mum's, but Michelle's, who smiles sadly, and looks upset.

"Don't move, Maxxie. The doctor says you're alright, but you gotta rest."

_The doctor ? _

I crack open the other lid, and wince – this eye is mostly swollen shut.

"_What happened _?" I croak in a panic, throat parched, completely fuzz-brained from whatever it is they have me on – morphine, I'm guessing.

'chelle holds my hand. Jal, sitting behind her, answers.

"Some fucking bastard bashed you."

Of course. It's all coming back.

"Don't tell my dad," I croak again.

"We won't," Chris offers, looking over at Sid, "we know the rules. We'll let you tell 'im. But you'll be better in a coupla days, mate, so there won't be any need."

I go to take a breath, and _holy fucking christ, it hurts_ ! Better in a coupla days ? I don't think so.

"Did I break something ?"

"No," Anwar offers, "doc thought you'd cracked some ribs, your pelvis and your tailbone, but they're only bruised."

Delightful. Just a bruised, swollen body from where some lunatic kept kicking me. Out of the clear fucking blue. For absolutely no reason.

Oh yes, wait – there _was_ a reason. Silly me. It's cuz I like _boys_. And cuz I reminded him that he does, too.

May I be granted permission to crawl up inside myself and disappear, now ? Would that be acceptable ?

"You'll be fine in a few days, Maxxie," 'chelle adds, touching my arm.

I don't feel like I'll be fine this year.

My gaze shifts. I look off, in total shock and disbelief, turn my head, and there to my right, by my bad eye, sits Tony.

Yes, dead last person on earth I wanna see, frankly.

"Where was _Antonio_ ?" Jal asks angrily.

'Chelle nods. "Ya. Why wasn't he there with you, Max ?"

I glare at "Antonio", and damn if he doesn't look _guilty_.

"He uh ... he dumped me. Decided he was straight."

"Bastard," Jal spits.

"_Fucking_ men !" 'chelle adds.

* * *

Next I know it's maybe later that day, but I can't be sure. I keep going in and out of consciousness because of the damned drugs, which is so unnerving and disorienting.

When I wake up, sometimes no one's in the room, or they are playing cards and arguing at the other end of the bed, or it's just Sid, gazing, fascinated by my wonky eye, or it's Michelle and Jal, fussing. One time though, I open my eyes, and it's Tony, by himself, sitting, watching.

I shut my eyes again. I'm in no mood.

"_Why are you even here ?_"

He says nothing. Is he hurt ? Have I hurt him ? Good.

"Who was he ?" He responds, three simple words, ignoring my question.

I, in turn, ignore him. Why he feels I'm prepared to have a conversation with him at all ...

"_Max_."

"What the fuck do _you_ care, Tony ?"

He pauses, not taking the bait, before speaking calmly.

"Why'd he do it ?"

"Why do you _think_ ?" I snap. "Why do they _ever_ do it ? _Fear_. No, not fear, _terror_."

"Terror of _what_ ?"

I turn. I raise my voice.

"Yes, how could they _possibly_ be terrified of us little _faggots_, right ? _What the fuck do you care_ ? You're _never_ gonna be on the receiving end of it, _are_ you, straightboy ?"

He continues to remain calm, face expressionless, which is maddening, when what I need right now is for him to _fly_ to his knees and beg forgiveness, not only for using and dumping me, not only for the manner in which he did so, not only for then having the unmitigated gall to sit here calmly firing off questions, but to apologize on behalf of straight people everywhere.

"Who was he ?"

Back to this, then. Tony undoubtedly using tools he learned in business class – 'when a sales customer says 'no', try the time tested _Broken Record_.'

I sigh in exasperation.

"Just a pickup, okay ?"

"You fucked him ?"

What, is he actually going to _judge_ me ?

"Yes," I snap, "_exactly_ like you and your little blonde tart, remember? Only we didn't do it in the _closet_."

His face remains blank; can't allow me the satisfaction of winning.

"Don't get it. He fucks you, then he _pounds_ you ? Why ?"

"A critique of my performance ? !" I spit, then something clicks off in my brain and I begin shouting as much as my bruised chest will allow. "Are you _deaf_ ? I already told you: _fear_ ! Work it out for yourself ! Or maybe you're incapable ! Fear makes straight boys do all _kindsa_ things, didn't you know that, Tony ? ! It makes them hide out and lie to themselves and their friends and sometimes beat up boys they've just come inside ! _What is this_ ? Why are you even _talking_ to me ? Why're you sitting there _pretending_ you're my friend ? Pretending you actually_ give a shit-_ ?""

"-Maxxie, come on, mate-"

"-'_Mate'_ ? ! _FUCK YOU ! Guess what, Tone - _I _know_ you loved it ! I _know_ you did. I was _there_. I'm a _witness_. But you _had_ to be the little fucking _coward_, didn't you ? ! Big strong smart tough Tony. You _had_ to run away from it, like the little sniveling _pussy_ that you are. So, y'know what ? _Fuck you_. Get the fuck out of my _sight_, alright ? _Go_."

My ribs are aching, but I'm breathing better.

He looks, I don't know ... shocked. Stunned a bit; maybe embarrassed.

I lean back. Good as it feels to speak the truth to his face, and as much as he deserves it, the emotional swing has exhausted me and dredged up a whole host of shitty feelings: rage, frustration, humiliation, depression bordering on suicidal – fueled in equal parts by the morphine and the general post-bashing stress. My lids slap shut. My eyes water. _Christ_ – yes, just bawl like a baby in front of _Tony, _why don't you ?

I whisper. My voice quivers.

"_I said get the fuck outta here_."

After a beat, he quietly does.

* * *

I quickly drift off, the exchange having completely drained me. And so what does my brain do ? Causes me to dream so intensely that I'm swimming in the five, full color senses: soft, ruby red lips meeting mine over my shoulder as we grunt and fuck; the scent of a dark, damp, erotically tousled head of hair; the taste of a smooth, perfect, post-orgasm cock ... and then I'm hurtled forward sickeningly and it's his hand, out in the hallway, hanging off a limp wrist, the little blonde at his side, giggling ... and finally and most vivid of all, there is a large anonymous foot swinging towards me as I grovel in the snow.

I wake, alone, shaking.

* * *

The next morning I thankfully have scarcely any memory of the day before – the medication doing a right number on me. I'm examined and poked by nurses but I'm still not permitted to leave, which is a bit annoying and lonely, as the others are all at the day's educational outing – an exhibit about - yipee! - Stalin's forced labor camps, that I'm sadly missing. I have neither my drawing pad, nor a book to read. I have but one magazine, which appears to be the Russian equivalent of _Popular Mechanics_. There is no telly in the room, the nearest one being in the lounge, but it still hurts too bloody much to move that far. The fact that I can now make it to the loo on my own and no longer have to piss into a bag is a small miracle. Just out of sheer boredom, I drift in and out of sleep half the day. At least my eye seems better.

* * *

Somewhere mid afternoon, the group, minus Tony, pile in, laughing and telling stories, and I'm thankful for my friends.

* * *

"Feeling better ?" 'chelle asks as she hands over my drawing pad and pencil, and a travel magazine she swiped from the plane on our flight here.

I shrug, and then wince - even this motion hurts.

"Mentally, ya. Physically, maybe ten percent."

"They're talkin 'bout maybe lettin' you out tomorrow, mate," Chris grins. "Back to our luxurious hotel slash jail."

I feel a surge of joy, only to have it squashed. Okay ... why had I not thought of this before ? How to explain that I cannot sleep in the same room as him ?

_Why go on protecting him, Maxxie ? Why not just spill ? Right now, to everyone._

Okay ... much as I'd love to blow Tony's cover and much as the motherfucker deserves it, it's rare, the _poof_ that is cool with outing anybody, even if that person's 'outage' was only temporary.

* * *

"Oh," 'chelle says, "almost forgot – I found this book in your room, too." I look, and it's bloody _Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit._

"Not mine – Tony's."

She frowns.

"Should've known. Why are men so obsessed with lesbians ?"

"Come on, 'chelle. Fuckin' _scorchin_'," Chris explains. "Hottest thing ever. You wouldn't understand."

Her and Jal look at each other, then burst out laughing.

"Oh ya ?" 'chelle asks.

"_Yes_ we would, Chris," Jal explains. "'chelle and I both totally fancy watching two boys!"

"And I found out my cousin Cindy does too, and so does a girl in my art class !" shouts 'chelle as the two girls shriek together.

Sid's brow furrows.

"Watching two boys _what_ ?"

The whole room breaks up, me included. Laughing hurts like fuck, but it also lifts my spirits somethin' fierce.

* * *

The group stays until my lids begin drooping, playing cards and weird kids' boardgames even though the instructions are in Russian, bringing me miniature hits of vodka plus snacks and drinks from the hospital vending machine, and helping me practice a brief, careful walk round the room.

Tony's absence is mentioned only in passing, some excuse about not feeling well, or some such bollocks.

* * *

The next morning, I am thrilled to be deemed well enough to, for the first time, partake in breakfast in the cafeteria itself, and am helped there by two large nurses, after which I am so exhausted from the journey, I fall dead asleep for 2 hours.

I awaken at some point to an empty room. I get up to piss, then gingerly prop myself up in bed to read my one magazine, but quickly grow bored of it, as I also do when I attempt to draw. I can't concentrate. My mind today is on bigger things, typically post-bashing stress related, like what if I'd died from it – wouldn't be the first queer to do so. What if those girls hadn't come along when they did ? I mean, I did fairly well – definitely nailed the bastard good, but given the difference in our weight and height, he would have eventually 'won'. He might not even have meant to kill me, he was a right nutter, but I doubt a murderer, but it doesn't mean it might not have happened by mistake. It absolutely could have, actually – had my head hit the ground at just the wrong angle, or whatever. _Fuck_. I imagine my family and friends getting the news, my gran and my uncle Bob ... and finally have to force the idea from my mind as it's too depressing and upsetting.

I then try on for size the idea that the bashing may possibly mark a dividing line in my life, in making me appreciate being alive and healthy and all that crap, in addition to helping me focus on realizing my dreams, hokey as it sounds.

Which are what, exactly ? Well, dancing, successfully, full time, for a living, on the London stage, of course. Getting good notices as part of a renown dance company that travels the world, but also standing out on my own for my unique, groundbreaking contribution to the art.

_Sure, Maxxie. _

The one thing I'm torn about is whether my future husband will also be a dancer. It could be great, the two of us speaking the same language and living and breathing for the same exact things, _or_ it could be an absolute disaster in which competition inevitably creeps into the mix, as does professional jealousy if one of us is more successful than the other. I settle on the idea that I will dance, and he will be in the business in some capacity, just not as a dancer; therefore he will understand the unique pressures and challenges of the life, without the potential conflicts.

* * *

The day passes quickly, and round about suppertime my mates arrive, bringing me more goodies and a fresh magazine. Once again, Tony is absent, today's excuse being that he skipped out on the day's field trip and when everyone returned, a note had been left with the front desk that he'd be back later tonite. Our teachers are not pleased, but there's nothing anyone can do. As our mobiles do not work in Russia, no one is able to contact him directly. It's all a bit odd.

The general consensus, spoken out loud, I'm surprised, is that a Russian girl is showing him round town. Michelle, who seems surprisingly resigned to this, if slightly annoyed and disgusted, guesses that it's the blonde coat check tart from the uni lecture. I want to, but of course do not point out the unlikelihood of this, due to the fact that Tony already _had_ her, and so must have immediately then lost interest.

* * *

Quickly, the evening comes to a close, not due to it being late, but rather to my repeated inability to keep my eyes from drooping shut, which is so frustrating, considering that I've slept half the goddamn day. While it's caused in part by the drugs, it's apparently also the body's reaction to physical assault, resorting to an infant's sleep schedule, in order, of course, to heal quicker.

Sleep tonite I do not find particularly restful, however, as I'm repeatedly visited for some reason with vivid and disturbing dreams, and twice wake up convinced someone is in the room with me.

At some point later on, immediately following one of my more benign dreams (walking down the street) which takes a sudden left turn (hit by a bus), I awaken with a start, and go to turn, only to jump two feet in place at the sight of a man's silhouette in the chair by the bed. For a moment I'm convinced it's my imagination, then I'm sure it's the basher himself, until the figure finally speaks.

"Just me, Max."

"_Tony, what the fuck ? Just give me a fucking heart attack, why don't you ?" _

"Sorry."

"What are you _doing_ ? What time is it for fuck's sake ?" I ask, as I lean over and click on the light.

3am.

I look back, and am startled to see he's got a huge black eye.

* * *

"What the ? What _happened _?"

He shrugs, all nonchalant, like this happens every day.

"Just a minor punchup."

"What, your little blonde barbie _hit_ you ?"

He squints.

"_Who_ ?"

"The chick-lette. The coat check girl from the lecture. 'chelle said, everybody said-"

"-Whatever. Wasn't her. She sucked, anyway."

"She _sucked_ ? Well, you certainly-"

"-Let's not discuss it, shall we ?"

"Okay ... so well then, who was it ?"

He pauses before answering.

"Funny, cuz that's what I kept asking you the other night – 'who was it'. The cunt who bashed you, I mean."

"Ya, so ? What does that have to do with -?"

"-I've been sitting here half the night trying to decide if I should tell you."

I squint.

"Tell me _what_, Tony ?"

He then tosses a wrinkled piece of paper at me, which I immediately recognize as the map I'd drawn.

"That I went to fucking _Voltclub."  
_

I'm stunned, flabbergasted.

"What the fuck are you talking about ! _Why_ ?" I hold up the map. "How did you even get this ?"

He shrugs again.

"Swiped it."

"What the fuck, Tony. _Why_ ?"

He looks down a moment, then up again.

"Christ, Max. Why do you think ? I felt like such a pile of unmitigated doggerel after our last conversation, I could hardly fucking sleep. You were pretty brutal."

Fuck, this is one for the books – Tony made to feel bad ?

"You deserved it. You totally did, I'm sorry but-"

"-Ya, I know," he says, almost exasperated. "I had it coming, after what I did, I understand that. I guess I'm just, y'know, ... not used to being told off in quite such wholesale terms, Max, particularly by somebody whose opinion I respect, y'know ? That's the _thing_ with you; you get under my skin in a way I don't understand. You sorta like, _baffle_ me. _Everything_ you said kept ringing in my ears driving me crackers until I felt so fucking guilty and shitty I went down there convinced I was gonna cream the bastard, take it out on him, but of course I couldn't find 'im."

"So then ... why the shiner ?"

He laughs bitterly.

"Barked up the wrong fuckin' tree."

I'm so wholly and completely stunned, a part of me is convinced I'm in the middle of one of my vivid weirdo dreams.

"I still don't get it. I mean, what made you think you could find the guy in the first place ? You didn't even know what he looked like."

"Ya, which was your fault, by the way. I kept asking you who the guy was, and shit, kept asking you about 'im, and you kept turning it around and trashing me."

"But Tony, you-"

He holds up a hand.

"-Ya, I _know_. I deserved it. You're right. I was a cunt, no two ways about it. Total cunt. And then you go and get bashed for fuck's sake. I feel incredibly shitty about it. That's why I'm here."

"What, to apologize ?"

He takes a breath - it clearly strains him to admit this.

"_Yes. I'm sorry._"

I sit back, stunned and perplexed. I also can't help but be impressed with Tony, who doesn't normally ever show much of a level of maturity nor bravery, as no one ever takes him on, really. No one ever calls him on anything. His valiant attempt to seek revenge on my behalf is therefore almost ... _sweet_. That's what's getting me. _So_ unlike him. Inexplicable, really.

"So ... are we cool, then ?" he inquires.

"Ya, I guess, I mean, you were still an absolute bastard, Tone, but _christ_. I can't fucking believe this."

"What, that I apologized, or that I went after 'im ?"

"Both. That you risked your hide like that, though. By _yourself_ ? Y'could've ended up with a cracked skull, or something. What exactly did you do ? I'm curious."

"I just ... followed your shitty little map and eventually found the place – wasn't easy – and went in."

A huge laugh suddenly bursts out of me, so much so that I have to hold my chest, since it hurts like fuck.

"What ?" He asks, annoyed.

"I just suddenly had this image of _you_, by yourself, inside a gay bar ! They must've been _all over you _– every bloody one of 'em !"

I laugh and hoot and howl further, wincing all the way, but it's _so _worth it.

"Fuck off," he mutters.

"And little did you know that all along it wasn't even necessary cuz I could've given you the cunt's address had I known you were going there – I know exactly where he lives !"

He squints.

"_What _?"

"Tony, we fucked inside his flat. Not every gay hookup happens in a seedy back room, y'know."

He sits up. His face brightens.

"Fuck. Fantastic. Let's go, then."

I stop and look at him.

"What are you talking about ?"

"You said you know where he _lives_, tosser. Let's go _get_ 'im."

"Are you cracked ? I'm hardly in shape for a brawl, shithead. And it's not like I laid there and took it, y'know – as I recall, I knelt on his balls."

Tony winces and recoils.

"Christ, _that'd _hurt."

"No shit."

"Don't think the lad'll be reproducing any time soon."

"With any luck, no."

"Still, I think we should pay 'im a definite visit. Come on ! Explain to 'im you're chargin' him with assault, or something. Make 'im shake in his shoes, at least."

"Short of having the police and an interpreter there, I don't know how I could. Nutter doesn't speak a word of English. Except for 'faggot', that is."

"He called you a _faggot_ ?" He snaps.

"Ya."

"Let's go, then."

* * *

_**Author's note:**_ Okay, well it was highly satisfying letting Maxxie have a major 'go' at Tony, who most certainly did deserve it, and more. It was also rather nice to get these two lovely creatures talking again. I love the dynamics of their relationship. I love that Tony is perplexed by Maxxie - that Maxxie gets under his skin and that Tony doesn't understand why. And I enjoy that Maxxie is a bit twisted up about Tony in a lot of ways, too.

At any rate, I've begun chapter 9, which I think will likely be the last, but then I never do know exactly where I'm taking these boys until the story gets going, so who knows.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback - **please review !** As they say, _'reviews are love' _! Thanks !


	9. Chapter 9

"Tony, seriously, I'm not in any shape to-"

"-We'll cab it."

"But, I mean ... I can't just check myself out of here whenever I feel like it."

Tony grins.

"Got it covered. I'll talk to the _nurse_. How d'ya think I got in here after visiting hours ?"

I hesitate a moment, then it clicks.

"Christ. Tell me you didn't fuck her."

He looks offended.

"'Course not. Tony doesn't expend himself when he doesn't absolutely _need_ to."

Right. As if Tony _fucking_ is ever any sort of _expenditure _for him.

I sit back. The idea of confronting the brute does have a certain appeal, of course, though it's also fairly terrifying, even if it _is_ with someone else in tow. Plus, Tony may be tall, but it's not like he's got a lot of bulk to him. So then, perhaps we'll simply _scare_ the bastard ... ?

"We could pound on the door calling out '_police_'." I say, "Or whatever the Russian word is for that."

"Christ, brilliant. Nice 4am wakeup call. He'll come to the door, and then I'll nail him one."

I hold up my hand.

"Wait. Listen." I feel a tad offended here. "Like I said, it's not like he got off totally easy. I pulled him down and crippled him in the goods. The whole idea of going back there, I mean, it sorta feels like it's negating that I _did_ defend myself."

"Not well enough, though, Max. You're in hospital."

"Well maybe he is, too."

"What, _cock_ hospital ?"

"Fuck off. He was huge !"

"What, his cock ?"

"_No_ ! _Him, _you idiot !"

"Okay, okay, look, this isn't about questioning the specifics ie what you did or didn't do; I could give a monkey's. It's about evening the bloody _score_."

I sit back. It's only just now dawning on me.

"You know what ? There's also this: As a gay person I feel a bit fucked up about it. Cuz whether or not the bloke's closeted, or bi or whatever, we'd still be committing a sort of poof-bashing, wouldn't we ?"

"Not if it's _self defense_, Max. Motherfucker _fucked_ you, and then sent you straight to hospital ! I don't _give_ a shit if he's closeted. No excuse."

"I _do_, though. And it's _not_ self defense when it's three days later."

"Revenge, then ! Or prevention ! _Preventative_ revenge ! Seriously – think you're the first gayboy he's bashed ? Or the last ?"

The lad is nothing if not insightful. Still, I can't get rid of the idea that I'd be bashing a fellow homo, even if he _is_ bashing them, himself. Because, in a way ... isn't it sort of _society's_ fault, and not entirely his own, that he's apparently riddled with self loathing and shame to the point where it apparently, at least momentarily, drives him crackers ?

So ... _am_ I right to try to seek revenge, then ? If I'm going to try to encounter him at all, shouldn't I instead try to somehow _enlighten_ him, in non-violent fashion, to the error of his ways, lest I otherwise be counted amongst the neanderthals ?

Christ, I hate fucking moral dilemmas.

"Look." I say with a sigh. "Why don't we just yell 'police' and then I'll try to _communicate_ with him, somehow-"

"_-Communicate ?"_

"Yes, Tony. I know that seems a bizarre concept, to you."

"No it doesn't. Fuck off, please. The only bizarre thing is that you'd wanna try and _reason_ with the cunt."

"Well it doesn't mean it'd work, but as I said, I feel funny about all this. If I could hold up a mirror to him, maybe he'd, y'know, think twice, next time, or whatever."

He looks at me, incredulous.

"You're too much, Maxxie. Okay. Your call, I guess. I'll get nursey to write shit down in Russian, like, stuff you wanna say to 'im, or whatever, right ? You can tell 'im off or make peace with him or give 'im gay rights literature or whatever the fuck, Max. It's your decision, but either way, I wanna be there when the cunt opens the door."

"Tone, I appreciate that, I really do, but I just don't think a free-for-all's gonna accomplish anything."

"I'll make me feel better."

I look at him. His face is entirely sincere. Sometimes Tony just blows my mind.

"You don't have to. We're cool. We've already talked about it."

"I know I don't have to. I _want_ to. I'd do the same for Sid. And who said there'll necessarily be a free-for-all ? I'll be there in the background, okay ? In case the arsehole decides on round two."

"Like a body guard."

He shrugs.

"Ya, I mean, seriously, what the fuck else are friends for ?"

"Like I said, he's big though, Tone."

"Hasn't got a bigger _dick_ than me, I bet," he blurts.

What the -? ? Where did _that_ come from ? ?

He stops dead. As pale he normally is, his flesh goes momentarily bright white.

"Sorry … um, don't know why I said that."

There is a brief and awkward pause between us, which I quickly move to fill.

"Whatever. Just ... I'm still pretty fucked up about this whole idea, Tone. I've been lying in a bed for three days and I'm sorta weak, still. No energy. I'm pretty sore and bruised, still."

"I know. All the more reason why the violent inbred closet case needs to be told some home fuckin' _truths_. Come on. I'm gettin' you outta here early, Max, and besides, it'll be good for ya. This place is makin' you soft. And plus I'll totally be there as your backup."

When I hesitate, Tony, as is his wont, closes the deal.

"Look. 'fore I left home I swiped my dad's PIN number, so I'm rather flush with cash at the moment and dying to _spend_. We can cab it there and back, in style – I'll have the bloke wait outside for us, in fact. And if we get up to the door and you decide against it, we'll leave straightaway. Your decision."

A part of me suspects I'm making a huge mistake ... however ... I'm so intrigued, and also so desperate to see something other than the four walls of this room, that I finally agree.

The fact that what lays ahead is a potentially swashbuckling mini-adventure with Tony plays only a small part in my decision, of course.

* * *

A few minutes later, Tony bursts through the door with a nurse who speaks good English, and informs me that since I was due to be discharged in a few hours anyway, it's not a problem to let me go a tad early. Then, as I dictate, she is even nice enough and patient enough to translate various sentences into Russian, and scribble them down phonetically for me onto a single lined sheet of paper.

"I've reported you to the police for assault," I blather, as she writes, "in the meantime, you need to understand that coming out is your only hope. It's wrong and incredibly unhealthy to live a lie. It traps you and leads to self destructive behaviours. There's loads of help and support out there. You just need to stand up and be a man and be honest with yourself and your loved ones. Only _you_ can free you."

Ridiculous, perhaps, and not exactly Winston Churchill, nor Doctor frigging Phil, but I figure a damn good message to impart, nonetheless.

* * *

In the cab, I nervously pour over the translations and practice pronunciations, while Tony does nothing whatever to help. He's too busy being giddy, which for some reason always results in him spewing every thought that comes into his damned head.

"How 'bout _this_, Max ? Four in the morning in January, and where are we ? Fucking Russia ! Who the fuck knew ! Gotta send my uncle a bloody postcard. Can't forget. Wonder what they cost. Where would ya get a stamp, even ? I once saw a film that was entirely in Russian. No subtitles. Can't remember what it was called. _Violent_ fucking thing, though, with quite a bit more smut than I was used to at that tender age. Made me horny. It was over at my first girlfriend's house. Well, she wasn't technically my girlfriend, yet, I suppose. That sorta came later, but anyway, her parents, who for some astonishing reason didn't like me, were away. We ate burnt popcorn that stunk up the whole house and then we made out. I half had her in the sack, when-"

"-Shut _up_ for fuck's sake, will you ? I'm trying to _concentrate_. Police_: __nonyun_, or like, _nonyumn, _or something_. _Homosexual: _rom-ocek-cyan-bho_. Romocekcyanbho ? Holy fuck, I'll never get this. How much further ?"

"No idea. Just yell '_police_' for fuck's sake. Probably a universal term, like 'fuck'. He'll come to the door, and then you can tell 'im I'm your boyfriend. _Yes_ ! We'll fucking hold hands like a nice, presentable young couple !"

"Shut the fuck _up_, Tone."

* * *

Inside the building, my heart is banging like a racehorse. It's terribly unnerving to return to the place where you've been ruthlessly attacked just days before, and yet a part of me is proud I'm – we're - at least trying to do something about it. Something constructive, hopefully, though I know the chances of success are slim. Meanwhile I have this fantastic image of the goon's shocked, frightened face as he opens the door ... _if_ he opens it. I'm secretly hoping he's not home.

Upstairs – we take the lift as I'm in no shape to climb stairs – round the corner, and there before us is the bloody door. Christ. Just this thin wooden barrier between he and I, then. I hesitate, take a series of deep breaths, and then raise a trembling fist to pound on the door. As I do, Tony, behind me, suddenly shrieks "_policia_ !"

"_Spanish_, you idiot !" I hiss.

"_Nonyun_ !" I turn, and shout, banging twice more. "_Nonyun_ !"

After a minute I hear a shuffling behind the door, and I'm absolutely bloody terrified. A moment or two later, after what sounds like the unlocking of several deadbolts, the door opens and ...

It's a girl. Oh fuck. Do we have the wrong place ? I'm positive this was it, though ! How mortifying. I begin scrambling to make apologies when the door opens wider, and it's fucking bloody well _him_. In the flesh. I gulp. My stomach clenches, and I resist the urge to run for my life, but then it strikes me. _This_ is how closeted the bastard is – even _living_ with a girl ! Who undoubtedly has no _idea_ her boyfriend frequents fucking Voltclub !

I begin to recite my speech – the terror of the moment having given me both the Katharine Hepburn shakes and instant photographic memory – when in the next second I spy a large and familiar fist making it's way rapidly towards my face. At the last split second I duck, and can actually feel the woosh of air moving into the space where my head had been.

What I don't realize at first is that Tony, who is directly behind me, has then had the fist land midway between his sternum and his collarbone, causing him to stumble backward as a burst of air rattles forward from his lungs.

Incensed, I move to leap on the cunt, but his girlfriend, who is taller and beefier than I, stands and blocks the doorway.

"You _motherfucker_ !" I shout at the top of my lungs. "_Closeted, buttfucking, poof-bashing_ _poof_ !"

"What you talking about ? !" His girlfriend shrieks, in heavily accented English. "What you _saying_ ? ! Get the _fock_ out of here !"

"Your boyfriend's gay ! Or fuckin' _bi_, or something." Tony shouts, pointing at him and nodding at me. "He fucked _my_ boyfriend Maxxie here -"

"- Tuesday morning ! Right inside your flat !" I add.

"And then he beat the living _shit_ out of him, right after." Tone adds. "For no reason ! He's been in hospital for 3 days !"

I yank up my shirt. "He kicked me ! Almost broke my ribs ! How do you think I got these bruises ! ?"

"And the black eye !" Tony adds.

The girl looks positively shocked and horrified, turns and gives the bastard goon the _evilest_ eye I have ever in my life witnessed, and then proceeds to spit something so foul and nasty at him that there's no need whatever for translation.

What I can only term as a growling noise then erupts from him, as the unnamed goon pushes her aside and is instantly out in the hallway, confronting us both.

"_Nyet,_ _Victor !_" she shouts at him. Well at least we now know his name. "_Nyet_ !"

I make an admittedly ridiculous and shaky voiced last ditch effort to inform him that he must face the truth about his sexuality, etc ... but he's not exactly listening. What then ensues is a scene straight out of the Three Stooges: He swings for me again, misses, his girlfriend jumps onto his back, slapping him upside the head, and then Tony decks him and knees him solidly in the groin, which sends both goon and girlfriend tumbling to the floor.

In an instant, she's up, and giving chase, snarl-screeching "_fock you_ !" over and over at us, as Tony and I flee in hysterics, giggling away like school kids. At the stair's first landing however, we hear the sound of heavy and rapidly approaching footfall.

Tony bolts quickly, hopping three stairs at a time, but I can't possibly move that fast – I'm stiff and still in pain and for the first time in days, morphine free.

I jerk my head behind me and the goon is closing the gap, eyes livid, shouting threateningly and all I can think is, he's going to kill me. He's going to send me hurtling down these stairs and I'll be found at the bottom in a broken, bloody heap.

In the corner I spy a small folding chair. I turn, pick it up, and throw it headlong down the hallway, hoping it will hit him or at least slow him down, though I don't wait around to watch.

Tony shouts and climbs back up the stairs towards me. "Maxxie, what the fuck – come _on_ !"

"I'm _trying_, arsehole !"

He runs up, impatiently grabs my hand and then turns and crouches down in front of me.

"Jump !" Meaning, onto his back. I hesitate a beat before he yells. "_Come on for fuck's sake _!"

I then do it – unbelievably, climbing onto Tony's long torso, who then proceeds to straighten up and _bolt_ down the remaining stairs, lightning fast, two and three at a time as if I weigh nothing.

At the bottom, Tony looks round, opens the front door to the building, lets it slam shut, and then sneaks quietly behind the stairwell.

We then silently wait, with me still clinging to his back, the both of us trembling, neither breathing, until the goon barrels down the stairs and bursts through the door, looking left and right, cursing and panting and muttering under his breath, and then running off.

Tony turns, and shuffles quickly in the other direction, apparently intending to exit through the back door.

"_No_," I shout-whisper, "he's probably running round the whole building looking for us."

"Well, we can't go out the front !"

I point to a door.

In the next second we're rushing down the stairs to the building's basement with me, yes, still clinging tightly to his back – it's just faster this way as I simply don't have the strength to be running and chasing.

Tony tries several doors, even finding the boiler room, which had previously been open, locked, until we discover ourselves at the end of a long and familiar hallway, directly in front of fucking Voltclub, which is of course, closed, this being 4:30 in the morning.

He reaches out, however, and tries the handle which, miraculously ... opens. We quickly and quietly move inside, with Tony locking the door behind us.

The place is mostly pitch black, except for the light coming from a medium sized, colourful fish tank.

He turns and deposits me by it, onto the club's only piece of furniture, an ugly, musty-smelling sofa, and plops down next to me, panting softly into the room.

"_Christ_," he whispers.

"No shit." I whisper back.

"How long should we wait ?"

"Dunno. Cab's standing by, too, right ?"

He waves his hand and laughs softly.

"Dad won't mind."

I slump back, thoroughly spent, disbelieving all that has just occurred.

"Fuckin' nuts." Tony says, echoing my thoughts.

"D'you think he'll come looking in here, though ?"

Tony stands quickly, picks up the coffee table that had been in front of us and wedges it firmly upright against the door handle.

"Fuck 'im. Even if he does – there's two of us, Max. But I doubt he will. We'll just wait 'im out a bit, and then split. Maybe catch a celebratory breakfast at some all night Russian cafe on the way back."

We sit in silence for a long while, listening intently, but hearing nothing. I'm exhausted and sore, but Tony seems fine, if a tad fidgety.

"Are you okay ?" I ask.

"Ya, whatever. Motherfucker packs a mean punch but nothing Tony couldn't handle." He turns to me. "How 'bout you ?"

"I'm alright. Just ... sore. Knackered."

"Big, goony sort of lad," he offers quietly. "What was the appeal ?"

I look at him.

"He's not bad looking, Tone. Y'have to admit."

He shakes his head.

"Nah. Don't see it."

"You wouldn't, though."

He shrugs.

"Wonder what the fuck _she_ sees in 'im." He turns and looks at me. "Did he have a big dick ?"

"Fuck off, please."

"I'm curious."

"What is it with you and this guy's dick ?"

He shrugs. He seems embarrassed. We sit in silence a minute, listening, and then I respond.

"Okay. To be honest, it was tiny, and also ... extraordinarily ugly."

He looks at me.

"What dick is beautiful ?"

I have to stop myself from answering.

He chuckles.

"Not that he has much of the tiny, extraordinarily ugly thing left, at this point."

"Nor those now permanently shriveled bollocks."

There is a pause, after which, we both burst out laughing, and then shush each other.

"_Did you see her climbing on top of him_ ? !"

"_'Fock you' !'"_

We both double over, holding our guts.

"_And how about that look she gave him_ ? !" I hoot.

"The like of which I've only very rarely seen in my entire 17 years; total fucking pussy-daggers in her pupils."

We double over again.

"_Pussy daggers _?" I ask, incredulous.

"_You_ know, well ... I guess you _wouldn't_ know, but it's the look you get when a girl's fucking _found you out_, or caught you in bed with her best friend, or some such nasty shit."

"So you have first hand experience with pussy-daggers, do you ?"

"Not sayin'," he grins.

We pause to listen more, but continue to hear nothing.

"I still can't believe you fucked him."

I turn and look.

"Why not ?" I ask, semi-annoyed.

He shrugs.

"Dunno. Seems a bit ... beneath your station, or something, that's all. You could do better."

I blurt it, before thinking.

"I wasn't in a terribly selective frame of mind that morning, Tone."

There is then a loaded and incredibly awkward pause, after which I can help myself not, and blurt again.

"Your little blonde _barbie_ didn't exactly seem your type, either, frankly."

He turns, semi-offended, himself.

"Huh ? She was _built_, and just this shy of gorgeous."

"If you like a badly bleached out, '80s kind of used up, acid-washed look, maybe. Plus, I thought you said she sucked."

He shrugs.

"She did. Her and the other one."

I look at him.

"_What_ other one ?"

He smiles shyly. He seems embarrassed.

"I'm such a whore. Her roommate. I did her bloody goddam _roommate_ like ten minutes later."

"You mean, was this before or after we encountered each other in the hallway ?"

"Christ," he moans. "_After_. Don't mention the fucking hallway, 'kay ?"

"Okay; not like it's my favorite moment of the trip, either, y'know. So did this qualify as a 'multi-pussy' event, then ?"

"_No_," he groans.

"Okay, so ... but it sucked ? The both of them did ? Why ? What happened ?"

"Christ, you are nosy."

"Come on. I'm curious. I told you 'bout the goon's scrawny dick."

He looks down in what appears to be a genuine case of embarrassment.

"Look. It was ... I don't know, I got off, but it was ... fucked up. Not their fault, really."

"How was it fucked up ?"

"I don't ... I don't know, Maxxie. Can we move on ? I feel weird talking about it. The whole thing. The hallway."

I pause, and then turn to him. I have a newfound respect, and fondness, for Tony, and this is maybe as good a time as any to waylay the big issue between us.

"Listen, I've gotten to know you pretty well on this trip. In ways I never thought I would, and I'm not being cheeky - I don't just mean physically. And you know what ? I like you and even though you can be a right bastard sometimes, I still care about you and want you as my friend. So there's no need for, like, pretending and awkwardness and shit. What's happened has happened and I'm cool with it. Chalk it up to experience. Water under the bridge, and all that."

There is then a rather extended pause, after which, Tony finally speaks. A single, short, but in the scheme of things, most extraordinary five word sentence.

"I'm not cool with it."

I turn to him.

He looks.

I look back.

His face, his eyes, seem, I don't know, _stressed_. Troubled. It could be anger. It could be embarrassment.

"Okay," I offer, voice flat, betraying my unease and confusion. I resist the urge to fire off a line of questions – what is he talking about, in _what_ way is he not cool with this ? Haven't we finally sort of made up and decided to be friends again ? Is that something he's decided he doesn't want, after all ? Has he experienced some sort of deep shame over having slept with me that he finds he simply can't live with ? Does he feel a strict parting of ways is in order now that he's done his duty and sought revenge on my behalf ?

He takes a breath and sits back. He's fidgety, momentarily ringing his hands, and waits a long beat before speaking.

"What I mean is ... the hallway, what I said to you ... something happened just before, with blondie, that was, I don't know ... pretty fucked up. It's why I lashed out at you, I guess."

He pauses. He's stuck his toe in the water and seems to want to tell me more, but is agitated, and unsure.

"What was it ?" I ask, gently as I can.

He fidgets a bit before continuing.

"She was ... we were ... doing it, obviously. Only I wasn't, like, I don't know ... _feelin'_ it. I was hard and all, and yet ... it was like, total auto pilot."

He leans forward, placing a flat palm on either side of his knees and looking at the floor. He continues speaking, but with extensive pauses between each sentence, clearly struggling.

"I don't know how to explain it ... Here's this hot, willing girl. Right up my alley, y'know ? Easy. There for the taking ... and ... it wasn't _goin_' anywhere ... I was _fuckin'_ 'er, and yet ... I couldn't _get_ there. Couldn't make myself come ... Have you ever heard of that ? I haven't. _Never happened to me before in my life, _in fact _... _like, some type of weirdo, reverse erectile dysfunction, or something _..._ She must've thought I was really something cuz this went on like ten minutes – rock solid, hammering away, with no end in sight, not even close. Little did she know it was cuz I was like _..._ _distracted_ ... trying to focus, but ... incapable ... _Christ_ ..."

He stops there. After a very long pause, I finally speak.

"So what happened ?"

He leans back and exhales a tense breath, nervous and freaked, like he's confessing to a murder.

"I shut my eyes, and there are all these ... motherfucking ... _images_ ... in my head ... that I'd been trying to block ... trying to hide from ... vivid, 3D, full colour, totally coming to life... scared the living shit out o' me, but ... it _worked_. Fucking totally worked. I let them through, and instantly, I came."

He stops talking for another minute, as if what he's told me has explained a single thing.

"Okay. So ...?"

He fidgets further, he seems increasingly uncomfortable.

"So then ... right after ... there's _you ..._ out in the hallway ... and it's so fucking awkward and twisted, and now I'm twelve times as antsy ... I'm all over the place, shameless: does she have a sister, does she have a _friend_, does she have a classmate or roommate or_ some_body ? And sure enough, 'fore long I'm stuffin' it to some sultry brunette; long legs, perfect tits, perfect skin – magnifico, right ? But ... same deal: brain's blocked up, can't make myself come, only the girl doesn't know it. She has no idea what's going on inside my skull."

"Which was ... ? _What_ was going on ?"

He's facing forward still, and ignores me.

"I shut my eyes ... and it's the goddam _pictures_ again. _Filling_ my head. Full colour, 3D ... and I shoot off like an absolute motherfucker."

_Long_ pause. While I'm pleased he feels comfortable enough to tell me such strangely intimate details about his life, I'm still sitting here, baffled.

"What's this about, Tone ?"

Longer pause. _Really_ long, and tense.

He whispers.

"It's about you."

I squint, flabbergasted.

"_Me_ ?"

He turns finally.

"Explains why I lashed out. Why I instantly went begging for more pussy, three seconds after I'd had it. I was completely and utterly freaked."

"About _what_ for fuck's sake ? !" I finally snap.

"Maxxie," he snaps back, "in order to make myself come, I had to close my eyes and pretend it was _you, _do you understand ? My body wanted _you_. _I_ wanted you. I didn't want them."

To cite the tired clichés and say that my jaw hits the floor and that you could knock me over with a feather is to capture not a smidgen of a fraction of a _pinch_ of what I'm feeling, which is ... beyond stunned ... floored ... stupefied ... blown to bits. Beyond words, really. Still, as Tony does not exactly appear joyous over this admission, I of course, hold back on any celebrations.

"But ... it's-it's just a _momentary_ thing, surely."

"A _'phase' _? Isn't that what all homos say when they first find themselves attracted to other homos ?"

My jaw truly does drop, here.

"But ... you don't actually think-"

"-All I know is, I don't know, now. Do you think I've _ever_ looked at boys, _ever_ in my life, let alone thought about them non-stop ?"

My brain repeatedly trips over this.

_Thought about them nonstop ? ! ? ! _

"_No_," he answers. "So what _is_ this, Max ? _Tell_ me. I _need to know._ Am I losing my mind ? What does it mean that I not only wanted to _kill_ the motherfucker for what he did, but that I also felt _actual_ fucking _jealousy_ when you said you'd fucked 'im ? ! _I've been swimming in this for three solid days and it's making me absolutely crackers._ I'm a mess. Can't sleep. Can't figure it. All I know is, I like you. A lot. You're incredibly easy to talk to, obviously. Not only that, I also sort of ... _admire_ you. Total respect, and shit. You've got _scruples, _mate. Principles. And like that isn't enough, you got _guts_ – you go charging up to a cunt who's put you in hospital only you don't try and hit 'im – you try and _counsel_ him first ! Cuz he's, like, _brethren_. Totally nuts. Meanwhile ... you're _fit_. Fuckin' hot. _Incredible_ in the sack. And then here I am ... _shitting_ on you ! ? Total chickenshit, total sniveling, lilly-livered _twat. _Am I any different from the basher ? Maybe he and I are cut from the same cloth. We _both_ fucked you, and then we both _ran_ like the bloody wind immediately afterwards, out of the same thing: _fear !_ _Exactly_ like you said."

The more he speaks, the less, truly, I am able to either take it in, or breathe. Still, he hasn't yet run out of steam, and so I must simply sit here and endure this most staggering, earth-shattering, and mind-twisting of confessions.

He turns to me. His face is sincere, and semi-pained.

"_You blow me away, Maxxie_. You sorta take my breath away. Totally bizarre. _Complicated_, cuz ... I _still_ feel like I'm straight ! I still like girls, but now I have this like, fucking _attraction_ to you, that I can't control and I can't seem to stop. Most bizarre of all, _I don't even feel like I want to._ You're _inside my head. _You're _under my bloody skin_, and it's twistin' me up and spinnin' me round and drivin' me batty. You're like, a bloody witch, or somethin."

Despite myself, despite it all, I laugh.

"That would be, a _warlock_, I believe."

"Whatever ... _christ_ ... and now, here you are saying you wanna be my _friend_ and it's all water under the bridge and let bygones be bygones, ie, let's put it all behind us, right ? Meanwhile, I'm like, _swimming_ in that fucking water, _drowning_ in it, and ... absolutely losing my skull in the process ... I don't know what to do, Maxxie. I'm just ..."

He plops backward heavily against the sofa, seeming finally to have run out of gas.

_What ... _

_on earth ... _

_to say ? ?_

I lean back, next to him, and, buying time with which to compose myself, simply reach for, and take his hand.

And so here we sit, Tony and I, in silence, holding hands, for eons. He doesn't know how I feel right now, which of course, everything hinges on. I'm so genuinely stunned, so wholly blown away that _I_ don't even really know how I feel, but ... it's coming to me, slowly gathering speed, working it's careful way towards my mouth. After a few minutes, it arrives.

"There's this writer, right ? This pretty heroic activist and intellectual, called Christopher somebody. He's old, like 60, and he was just diagnosed with terminal cancer, and I read an interview with him online maybe two weeks ago, about his memoirs, cuz he's just written 'em. This guy is straight; married twice, three kids, dated lots of women, but he'd also had some gay experiences when he was young, and the interviewer asked him why he bothered to include them in his bio, when he could've easily left 'em out. The implied message being, _why would you want to admit to that_ _? _And what the bloke said in response was something that stuck in my brain, cuz it was so _wise_, like, and true. He said something like, that you have to allow for the elasticity of human desire, which, y'know, I really dug. '_The elasticity of human desire_.' Wicked. Beautiful bloody ring to it.

I re-clasp his hand.

"We're complex creatures, Tone. We're not inanimate objects that can be stuffed into a box and kept there. We've got the biggest, densest brains in the animal kingdom. I think it's silly, and damaging, and _needless_ that there are all these man-made rules about impenetrable boundaries that we supposedly aren't allowed to cross, ever. It's criminal that they've made us all terrified of these totally natural things, impulses, or whatever you call them, to the point of it being enforced by _law _? ! Why ? It's unbelievably stupid and wrong-headed. Unnatural."

We sit there another minute as my words hang in the air, the impact of which, I'm unsure of.

He looks at me. His voice is low, and measured.

"Totally makes sense, Max, can't argue with any of it, unquestionably wise, as you said ... 'cept ... it's all sorta arms-length, big picture, _macro_ stuff. Meanwhile, I just spilled the entire contents of my head. Made a right total arse of myself and practically proposed to you. If you're sayin' you're not interested, tryin' to let me down easy cuz you don't wanna add to my embarrassment, I swear I will totally understand. It's not like I wouldn't deserve it. I've been a cunt to you; been a cunt plenty of times otherwise, and maybe that's who I am inside. Maybe I'm way below your station, like the goon. If that's the case, we'll go back to being friends and I'll deny ever having had this conversation." He stops a moment, and takes a breath. "I guess I just need to know if I'm too late, if I maybe shoulda sprung this shit on you days ago."

I stifle a small laugh –_ 'sprung this shit'._ Tony is nothing, if not romantic.

I turn to him. I feel it so strongly, this comfort, this ease, this warmth and confidence.

"It's not too late."

He looks surprised.

"It's not ?"

I smile.

"No."

"_Y'sure_ ?"

I nod quickly.

"_Yes_."

* * *

The only thing left for Tony and I to do, then, of course, is to kiss. We lean close, we're an inch apart, when Tony suddenly pulls back.

"We'll just ... give it a go, then, ya ?"

"Going out, you mean ?"

"Ya."

I force an exaggerated pout.

"Tony, you prick, I thought you just asked me to marry you !"

He looks momentarily startled ... then laughs along with me.

"_Tosser_. Right ... okay," he says, as he leans close again, "so that would make this our _honeymoon_, then ?"

"Might," I smile, and press my lips into his.

* * *

Lips, of course, like nothing better than to press and stretch and wind their way round other lips. They like moisture and heat and toying and teasing and play, and they like getting serious, too. They know and are quite proud of their own standing in the scheme of things, that they are the gateway, the _spark_ for all things healing and passionate, and they know they draw a clear and direct path, to yearning, to impatience, to hunger and need.

Given the buildup – the three days without, and given that, between us, Tony and I have meanwhile had a trio of disturbing, unsatisfying, and dare I say traumatic sexual experiences, it should therefore come as no surprise that we are very quickly to the point of sex, ourselves. Tony, smells, I know, of sex, it seems, always. He kisses you like the ends of the earth, he tastes of those same hot, cinnamon mulling spices, and he teaches you in short order the very meaning of the word _want_.

I'm down, on my back, and, as he prepares me with carefully placed digits, Tony takes me into his mouth, slow and firm and gentle, like he's missed it, like nothing else matters. I writhe and twist about, sweating, swearing, blinded and overcome by the twin sensations until my neck snaps and I gasp and rocket forward.

Tony leans up, raises my legs and impatiently crawls between.

I stop him, wincing in pain, the pressure, the scrunching of my torso being something my body is not yet prepared to endure.

"Sorry," he says.

"'S'okay. Lay back."

"Hmm ?"

"_Lay back_, Tone."

We switch positions- his body now face up, at the opposite end of the sofa, and I crawl up and straddle him, and, hands held to either side of his head, genuinely and extensively maul him, before reaching back for his beautiful, magnificent cock.

I grasp it, lean myself upright, and position the tip for entry. I hold my breath. With one hand gripping the back of the sofa, I aim, and then _plunge_, hard, directly downward.

_Christ_ ... _must_ he be so strapping ?

I grab his outstretched palm to steady myself.

"If you were just," I pant, "... a _teensy_ bit smaller."

"If _you_ were just a tad less _tight_," he says, breathy and strained.

"In how many ways _are_ you gifted, exactly, Tone ?"

"Every way that counts."

We giggle, despite ourselves.

"Wanker."

"Maybe we should call this whole thing off, then ?" I grin. "Seeing as we're not terribly well _suited_ to each other."

"Maybe we should do this more than once every three fuckin' _days_- stretch out that tight, virgin fuckin' _arse_ of yours."

"Are you saying you wanna fuck me every day ?"

"_Every minute_," he whispers, pulling me down for a deep, bruising kiss ... which, once again, my sore torso resists.

I wince, straighten up, raise my pelvis, seek leverage via his hand and the back of the sofa, and ... _let loose ..._ hurtling quickly and forcibly downwards, causing us both to cry out into the room.

"_Fantastic !" _He wheezes._ "Fuck me, Maxxie. Do it !"_

_Yes_, it is especially pleasing, indescribably sweet and delicious, this exquisite sensation of steady and repeated impalement,_'riding the pole'_, as it's known, creeping ever upward, knees at the ready, holding oneself still for that gorgeous, anticipatory moment, only to _drop with force_, _slamming it home_, over and over, deep and fierce and true ... and then ... to be met by his rising hips, which instantly quicken the pace, to the point where I'm bouncing helplessly, like an infant in his lap, glancing off his sweat soaked hips as he grasps hold of mine, Tony not exactly being accustomed to _not_ setting the pace ... a thing which, in time, I figure, I will cure him of.

Or maybe not in time.

I grab his hands, and lean forward despite myself. I kiss him hard, and slow the pace to a crawl, grinding and swiveling my hips in lewd fashion, which elicits that strained, blissed out, impossibly beautiful face, that slow torture writhing I'm looking for.

Between gasping pants, between kisses, he swallows down big gulps of air as I speak into his mouth.

"I'm gonna make you come."

"_Uh ! Shit ! !"_

"_I'm gonna make you come."_

Weighty lids fly open as I bear down tight, pinning him in place, squeezing with my inner muscles as I rock and thrust and drive him straight over the edge ...

And then his _face_ ... _holy sweet christ ... his face ..._

Having been denied this vision before, I drink it in, all of it, staggered, shattered, at the sight of lips hung open, moist and needy and pleading; eyes by contrast, squeezed tight, in agony, almost, as he twists beneath me, as he calls out in a deep, ragged, heartstoppingly sweet cry ... his expression, incredibly, one almost of innocence, of bliss, of disbelief and wonder.

I am left with a sense of peace and contentment I've never known.

And ... at last ... at long bloody last I'm permitted finally to do what my body, what my soul have been so desperately needing: to fall to him, and hold him, this man I love, as if he were mine.

* * *

There is but one thing left, Tony informs me, as we hold hands in the rear of the cab on this cold, dark, brilliant morning. The thing that will, as he puts it, "seal this whole deal".

Which is ... ?

His deflowering, of course, at my hands.

* * *

_**Author's note:** _

_Okay, well, sigh ... there you have it - and yes, before anyone asks,** there will be a chapter 10**, which will indeed mark the end of the story. This chapter was particularly sweet and moving for me to write. My favorite bit has to be Maxxie sitting and holding Tony's hand in silence while he tries to take in the enormity of what Tony has just confessed. Just that image of the two of them sitting together in the near darkness and for long moments, not speaking, with poor Tony so frazzled and vexed, incapable of knowing if he's too late - the fact of Maxxie having taken his hand signifying possibly nothing more than support and friendship and maybe even pity ... Ahhh. What Maxxie says to him btw, about the writer named Christopher, is completely factual and a direct quote, in fact (the bit about the elasticity of human desire), taken from an August 2010 'Out' magazine interview with writer Christopher Hitchens with whom I am presently smitten. _

_I love of course, Tony's vexation over his own feelings. I love that he knows he is not 'supposed' to have them, and yet more incredible and baffling for him is that he realizes that he doesn't _not _want to be having them. Still, he is so twisted up and confused by them, and overwhelmed at being overwhelmed by Maxxie, that he's become essentially a basket case. My favorite thing here is when he tells Maxxie that he, Maxxie, takes his breath away - an oft-used phrase and yet, still, to me, one of great beauty and poignancy. I love that Tony is rendered vulnerable by his feelings, and that he is basically at Maxxie's mercy. I love that he is a player, used to fucking around without serious attachment or feeling any particular sense of responsibility to anyone, not really even Michelle ... only to be stung so hard and so inexplicably with the Maxxie bug that he can no longer see past him - someone he respects and admires and looks up to this time, not just arm candy or a playmate. So maybe for Tony, this would be his first 'real' relationship, at least, on a more adult plane. (I think, in fact, they'd be great together, with Maxxie being particularly good for Tony and acting to keep him in check.)_

_I love the two of them talking to each other during sex - teasing, joking, and then finally in a way that, in one sentence, seriously ups the erotic ante._

_I love of course the ending- the vision for Maxxie that is Tony's climax. Maxxie hasn't really ever seen anything so beautiful and moving in his life. And then it was especially sweet and satisfying for Maxxie to finally be permitted to reach out and hold Tony, instead of the end of the act mostly resulting in parting, physical and otherwise. Instead what we have here by contrast is the forming of a bond. _

_Btw lest anything think I'm bragging by talking about what I love in my own story, I can only explain that as the cliche goes, stories often write themselves and go where they want to go. Characters take on lives of their own and you begin, as the writer, to let them lead - you begin, as you write, to hear what they hear and see what they see, and think in their voices, etc. So in a sense, and not to be too 'new age-y', the Maxxie and Tony I've written have written their own story and gone down the roads they chose themselves. I'm sort of just here to record it. _:)

_So ... as always, thank you for reading. I hope this chapter brought enjoyment to the reader and maybe even moved them a bit. It did me. _


	10. Chapter 10

We sneak into the building via a basement level rear door, Tony chuckling with mischief (_"goin' in the back door !"_) and retire to the our boilerman's flat. Tony has had little to no sleep these last few days, while I have had too much, and yet he's bouncing about, cackling away over stupid things, cracking silly jokes. I force from my mind the thought that he's behaving like a person in love – buzzed, full of light, giddy.

We sit side by side on the bed and share a single Russian cig, apparently called _Java_, bummed from our cabbie, which is rather extremely strong and without any filter – the tobacco going from end to end, so that each time, you get tiny strands of the stuff in your mouth. Tony's fidgety, eying me and grinning in that knowing, alluring way as he pulls bits off his tongue.

As he continues, I'm finding the sight of the perfect pink wet protruding fleshy thing unbearably sexy, and I finally lean over to capture his mouth, which at least causes him to stop fidgeting.

When I pull back, he's grinning again, and whispers.

"_Thought you wanted to wait."_

I smile.

"_Thought you didn't."_

"So is this the way it's gonna be, then ? Nonstop sex ?"

"Of course. You were expecting ... ?"

He shrugs, playing along.

"Dunno ... flowers ...?"

We lean in again. Tony likes to take the lead, when kissing, and I like to let him, and it strikes me that he really should teach a course, he's so bloody good. Pressure, suction, timing, the all important nibble-factor, and that glorious, ingenious tongue. Just as I'm out of breath and beginning to get tingly, he pulls back so that our lips brush.

"So which is it, then ?"

Christ, he is nothing if not fucking boiling maddeningly _hot_.

"If you give me a choice right now, Tone, it's absolutely going to be sex ... even if it _is_ a little terrifying."

He looks at me.

"Terrifying ? Why ? _I'm_ the one getting _buggered_."

I lean back. I sigh.

"Okay, I have two responses to that, or rather ... three. One, 'you say that like it's a bad thing'; two, I've always hated the term – it makes something intensely wonderful sound intensely unappealing, like dog-fucking, or something. And three, of _course_ I'm nervous –_ it's your first time, _Tone_. Huge _responsibility. I want it to be good. I want it to me more than good. You of all people know well what I'm talking about, there._"_

He grins. His eyes sparkle.

"I can honestly say I've never had a moment's worry with virgins, Max, or for that matter," he chuckles, "anybody, really." His grin fades. He shrugs. "But then, I'm friggin' sex on legs."

I take his hand. It's not actually because I love him that I'm saying this ... _he's not actually bragging._ He's simply speaking the truth.

"Believe me, you have no argument from me there, but you forget, I'm hardly _you_."

"Max, are you kidding ? You're _scorchin_' ! Don't you know that by now ? Come on- ya gotta have a little self confidence. 'Sides, virgins are, guaranteed, the easiest people on earth to please – cuz they don't know any better, right ?"

"But we're only talking that you're a virgin in that one area. This is hardly like your girl-virgins who'd never kissed a boy before."

He grins.

"_I'd_ never kissed a boy 'fore you."

"You know what I'm saying, Tone."

"Ya," he laughs, "I'm just fuckin' with ya. I'm in a really good mood- I'm about to get fucked ! But, okay ... if I'm honest," he sighs. "I _am_ a tad nervous. It's a bit scary, innit ? Still, at the same time, I gotta admit the suspense is sorta killin' me. Like I said, of the many oodles of dozes of times I've sunk my willy into somebody who then right before my eyes went completely apeshit, I mean ... only a very, very dull boy wouldn't, y'know ... _wonder._"

While I see his point, I resist the urge to ask him just exactly how long he's _wondered ..._ figuring we can get into that sort of stuff later. Meanwhile, he leans in and kisses me, shallow, closed-mouth, once, twice, then pulls back and whispers into my face.

"_Take off your clothes."_

_Gulp_.

I let out a nervous, turned-on laugh.

"Why me ? _You're_ the one getting buggered."

* * *

There is a certain sort of _zen_ quality to it, I think, not, I admit, that I know shit about such things, but I do believe that's the right term, or at least ... feeling. Certainly helping is the fact that, outside, it's begun raining quite hard. The steady soothing drumbeat is somehow eerily perfect as far as atmospheric backdrops go; only a thunder and lightning storm could be better.

* * *

We sit on the bed, face to face, torsos close, our legs criss-crossed so that Tony's knees are bent, those long thighs stretched out over mine, his feet somewhere behind me.

We quietly kiss, while softly and mutually stroking, the unhurried nature of it something I find extraordinarily erotic as well as pleasingly romantic.

"Does it work better if I'm hard ?" he asks, between kisses.

Tony is ever Tony. I'm slightly frustrated and slightly saddened by his question. Why can he not see that:

"I just wanna bring you pleasure, Tone."

"Maybe it'll relax me ?"

His nervousness is helping to fuel mine.

"Should," I lie, and kiss him.

_God, I mean ... it could be disastrous, couldn't it ? Easily. It could really hurt and he could end up hating it and swearing it off forever. _

_What then ?_

_

* * *

_

Some moments along, Tony pulls back, breathless, looking down.

"Gettin' close. Should we do it ?"

I swallow.

"Okay." I kiss him quickly. "Lay back."

"Again ?"

I laugh.

"You forget, I gotta prep ya, Tone, but, I'll tell you what - just to relax you more, I'll bring you off at the same time – okay ?"

He stretches back and lays his head on the pillow, grinning ear to ear.

"You learned that from me ..."

I smile, and allow myself one more little white lie.

"Yup."

* * *

I crawl between. For a moment the disbelief, the insane, inexplicable, otherwordly miracle of this whole situation hits me: Tony ... _who is sort of my boyfriend now ..._ (though I highly doubt he would use that term) ... is spread out before me, on a bed ... _waiting for sex. _

_

* * *

_

He tilts his pelvis, and I start off, gently as I can, requesting permission every step of the way, with a well lubed pinky finger.

He flinches a bit, and a quick glance shows that he's gripping the sheets.

"Alright ?"

He hesitates a moment before answering.

"Ya." His voice is a bit wobbly. "Just ... _slow_, right ?"

"Right."

I lean, and quickly kiss his belly, blown away and honored that he trusts me to take him down this road at all.

He is, it has to be said, extraordinarily tight, of course, which is to be expected, though at the moment it seems to me impossible that a cock could fit here.

I look up.

"Not hurting you, right ?_"_

"No. It just feels incredibly ... _weird_. A bit uncomfortable."

"Sorry. It is a bit that way at first, and I can't say there won't be some discomfort or pain, there usually is a bit, in the beginning, but ... it'll be worth it."

He smiles. He chuckles.

"What ?" I ask.

"Judging from you hoppin' up and down in my lap like a bloody _rabbit_ earlier, I expect it will be."

I flush slightly.

"I don't have a golden, god-like cock like yours, Tone. I doubt, um, _rabbiting_, could possibly feel that good to you ... should we, I mean, ever get to that point."

"Oh, I _intend_ to get to that point."

I lean up, careful not to dislodge my carefully placed work, and kiss him.

"You are insanely hot, d'you know that ?"

His grin tells me he does.

"Get back down there, mate," he purrs. "_Work_ to do."

* * *

I do as I'm told, and move to kiss his cock, which is disappointingly floppy, but I figure, not for long. Indeed, within another minute, it's shiny, wet, and very stiff. Sigh. Simply what one must do, if the situation calls for it.

Some minutes along, as a trio of digits, none of which were particularly welcomed, begin sliding within and teasing that certain inner spot, while at the same time, I'm, because it can't be helped, rather strenuously and enthusiastically teabagging him ... he suddenly and without warning, comes, hips lurching, spurting high onto neck and chest.

"_Holy fuck,_" he pants, hoarse, as surprised as me.

I look, and am met with a sight that is almost too incredible to be real, and eerily recreates not only high quality softcore gay porn, but about a million and a half of my own masturbatory fantasies: Tony's beautiful, pale, flushed, bumpy and rapidly heaving chest ... slick with a thin sheen of sweat and streaks of his own fresh ejaculate ...

I dive and lap up the white, running my tongue excitedly up his torso to meet his mouth. We grab each other's faces with both hands, kissing madly as I thrust myself towards him.

In literally all of my wildest dreams I never knew sex could be this blistering.

I pull off him finally, panting with excitement and nerves.

"_How d'you wanna do this ?"_

"I don't know; am I ready ? What would hurt less ?"

My gut clenches. My poor lovely boy.

I start to ... then stop ... then start again, realizing, shit,_ I'm allowed to now ..._ as I reach out and tenderly cup his face.

"I think you're ready – again, I'm not huge, like you, Tone, and ... I think maybe laying on your back is best. Face to face tends to be less deep – a bit gentler."

"Ya, but, you'll be _lookin_' at me, Max. Fuckin' embarrassing."

Who knew that somewhere within Tony there existed such a sweet, shy boy ? And now the dilemma. I really _had_ wanted it seared into my brain: his face, as he is penetrated for the very first time. It's something I actually believe all straightboys should experience at least once in their lives- that exquisite sort of vulnerability, that automatic and beautiful surrender that accompanies allowing someone _in_, literally, and figuratively. But I suppose, yes, it makes sense to allow him this small bit of privacy while he undergoes something as profound, and undoubtedly to him, profoundly _taboo_, as this.

"Okay, if it'd be easier for you, we can turn you over. We'll just prop you up with some pillows under your hips."

"Why don't I just kneel ?"

"Your legs are a bit long, Tone- they're like the entire length of my body. I'll never be able to, y'know, _reach_ unless I almost sorta, like, stand behind you, which'd be a bit awkward. I mean, we can try ..."

"Nah, forget it. You're right. I'll just flip over and lay on my gut."

* * *

Behind him, with visibly shaking hands, I slip on a lube-drenched condom, and approach, leaning over his back a moment to apply a kiss.

"Alright ?"

"Ya," he answers softly. "Just ... go slow."

It takes every ounce of energy to keep from telling him that I love him and that everything will be fine.

"I will," _(my beautiful darling boy)_, "I will. If at any point you want me to stop, please just say it, Tone, and I will."

"Okay."

* * *

I slide the tip between, smearing him with excess lube and wait, sitting at the opening, absolutely nervous out of my skull.

"Go ahead," he whispers.

I lean forward to kiss his back again, lean away, and carefully place the tip, softly bouncing against the opening ... which if I'm not mistaken he seems to like, as he exhales a small breath, all of which gives me the confidence to proceed further ... and then immediately everything breaks down.

He inhales sharply.

"_Wait – wait !"_

I yank myself out – I'd only been in half an inch.

"_I'm sorry, did I hurt you ? !" _

"It's just," he clears his throat. He sounds freaked. "It's just really fucking tight. You feel huge."

"Well ..." _god, I'm shaking – even my voice is shaking ..._ "there's usually a bit of pressure to start. There's this big ring of muscles at the opening-"

"-Fuck, Max," he snaps, panting, "don't friggin' get _medical_ on me right now, '_kay_ ?"

_Ouch_. If only to be able to crawl beneath the bloody floor boards ...

"Sorry," he says quickly. "I'm sorry. I'm really tense. Just ... try again, please. Seriously."

The second attempt proves a sadder replica of the first, with Tony stopping the act almost before it's begun, and my heart plummets. What is especially worrying is the thought that, if this doesn't work, the prospects for us coupling up, for that to actually work, seems dim, the _act_ being the one thing I can offer that girls can't ...

I fidget, ringing my hands, mouth gone dry, feeling wholly and utterly inadequate. _Tony is waiting for me to know what to do ... and I don't !_

I look round in desperation ... and suddenly spy something which I had previously given no notice but which is right now a frigging, glowing bloody gift from god ...

On top of the boilerman's miniature fridge is a tray containing utensils, paper towels, a salt and pepper shaker, and ... a big, magnificent roll of cling wrap, undoubtedly used to preserve half eaten late-night fare, but which will now be used for a much higher and greater purpose.

* * *

As I lay a sheet of the stuff across Tony's bum, he's flustered. He turns, annoyed.

"Maxxie, _what_ in the fucking _hell_ are you _DOING_ ? ?"

"Shut up. Keep still. Give me a sec."

"What, are you tryin' to _diaper_ me ? !"

I stop and look at him, annoyed myself.

"Ya, Tony, _totally_ into infantilism, arsehole. Sooner you find out, the better."

He turns back, muttering_"what the fuck"_, in disgusted and disappointed tones ... which catches in his throat as I lower, spread his cheeks, and flick my tongue into the straightboy's stubborn hole ... in response to which he lets out an instant, high pitched, shocked, laughing _shriek_.

"_What the hell is that ? !" _He giggles, squirming beneath me.

I ignore him, gliding my tongue easily along, around, over, into ... aided by the glop of lube on the other side of the plastic.

"_Uh – shit ! Fuck ! Holy fuck !" _he moan-laughs, writhing even as I try to hold him in place, so that I have to spank him once or twice ...

"_Ow ! !"_

... and threaten him with more.

The laugh-gasps he continuously emits are like a mixture of delight and torment, like his foot has fallen asleep and he's trying to walk.

As I continue, I am repeatedly rewarded with everything from high pitched shriek-whoops of _"Fuck ! ! That's totally amazing ! !",_ to strangled cough/gasps and giggled curses, to deep, sensual shuddering moans and full body writhing, particularly as I shape my tongue into a point and _flick_.

As the moments pass, his voice lowers to a hoarse unintelligible growl, a thin sheen of sweat and rosy colour spread up his torso, his lower back arches sharply upward (insanely sexy- that), and most beautiful, most telling of all: the writhing intensifies, that is to say, it slows ... to an unbearably erotic _slither ..._ which is just impossibly wonderful to be in the middle of, quite literally, although there is a bit of 'follow the moving target', but who on earth is complaining ? It is obvious that Tony is absolutely bloody _smitten_ with these heretofore unknown sensations and may have just happened upon his new favorite thing in the world, the secret, magical universe of _rimming_.

Thus I can't bring myself to stop. I'm floating, flying, losing track of date and time, of my own bloody name, lost in the glory of Him, the uber-responsive, demonically sensual being that is Tony Stonem, every last pore, every last beautiful ounce–

"-_Max_," he whispers hoarsely.

I jolt, shaken out of my giddy, over the top reverie.

He speaks between pants.

"I'm kinda … going … fucking insane here …"

I gloat momentarily. Yes, thank you. I _am_ incredible.

"… But I really don't wanna come yet."

Translation: Fuck me, you idiot. What exactly are you waiting for ?

* * *

I quickly discard the plastic and position myself, silently praying, and, with his permission and encouragement, finally plunge just inward.

Any joy I feel is squashed as he instantly stiffens and calls out, neither in a good way – but insists he's alright and to just wait a moment, which I do, caressing and kissing his heaving back, wanting so desperately once again to tell him of my love, and also to fire off a series of questions ...

_So what do you THINK ? Isn't it amazing ? _And comments: _Boy, you are crazy-tight. I now understand what you meant about your dick was being 'strangled'. We'll definitely have to do something about this._

"I wish this was easier," he says, wearily.

My heart moves to sink, but I catch it before it does, knowing that we're half way there and Tony is unlikely to remember the petty initial bits.

* * *

In another minute I move another fraction or so, then another, each time it being met with a less than glowing response ... but pretty soon, I'm to the hilt and laying on Tony's back, in relief and exhaustion, the both of us panting.

"How is it ? Is this okay ?"

"Weirdest fuckin' thing I've ever felt in my life," he responds, not wholly unhappily, "like bein' _filled up_, and shit, like somethin' big sittin' inside ya. Fucked up !"

"Just wait. It'll be amazing, I promise."

"Well, I see what you mean about the bloody _prostate, _or whatever," he laughs. _"Fuck ! _What did you tell me about it again ?"

"I thought you didn't wanna hear medical stuff," I tease, nibbling on his ear and running my hand up into his hair to muss it.

"Come on."

Kiss, nibble, lick ...

"Okay, listen though. Gonna be a test on this later. It was about those glorious ejaculatory ducts, remember ?" I whisper breathily, "which, it just so happens, are happily and conveniently located _within_ the prostate gland, _which_, it so happens, is best accessed via a man's bumhole ... all of which means, of course, that a cock sliding and rubbing _into_ it-"

"-_Shit ! Brilliant ! _So then, men were _meant_ to be butt fucked !"

I laugh.

"Seriously, Max ! If it was _designed_ that way, then who's to argue ?"

"Not me," I whisper, and turn his head to kiss him.

* * *

Okay, now ... and finally ...

Here ... we ... bloody ... well ... _go ..._

The moment you could say I've been waiting for my whole life ...

Tony braces himself as I pull slowly back ... and then swing my hips inward for the first time ... which causes a surprisingly large pocket of air to spew from his lungs, seeing as it was just the test swing.

"_Fuck,"_ he laughs-coughs.

"Okay ?"

"_Yes_," he immediately responds, in a very chipper and upbeat tone.

A second careful backwards pull and then ...

_Hard_, right into him, eliciting my first genuine grunt, and Tony's first corresponding half-shriek.

Yes ... _shriek_. Tony is quickly finding, first hand, just exactly why Chelle and I and everyone else he's had have uttered such inordinately embarrassing sounds.

I rear back, and thrust forward a third, fourth and fifth time, which, may I say, feels very fine indeed, like your birthday, wedding day, Christmas and New Year's all rolled into one, like fucking your dream man should. Only problem being, it's so good I'm beginning to worry that I may not last.

_Why hadn't I bloody thought of this before ? There, on the floor, too far to reach, my damned shoe – a lace from which would have worked as a perfectly executed makeshift cock ring ..._

"_Come on, _Maxxie," he blurts impatiently.

Hardly needing to be told twice ...

Slam !

"_Uh !"_

Bang !

"_Gah !"_

Thrust !

"_Fuck ! !"_

Again. Again. Again ...

We're both trembling – me, aching and weak muscles; Tony, shivering with eager anticipation. He in fact proceeds to raise himself up slightly and meet me for the next round, so that we lock into a beautifully erotic, and intensely sensual rhythm ...

_Good god_, just the _feeling_ of it let alone the knowledge that I'm right now plunging my poor cock deep into the warm, tight confines of bloody _TONY ! ..._ all as he actively and rigorously engages me, thrusting back, our bodies slapping, our gasps and cusses and grunts mingling and filling the room ... and then, as I speed up further, he goes straight off into breathless non-stop desperate shriek-mode.

A minute into which I halt, absolutely elated, flying, over the moon ... but needing a moment's respite ... however Tony's right on me.

"_Why'd you stop ? ! Don't frigging stop !" _

Why indeed ? I chuckle to myself, and turn to kiss him sideways.

"_Slut,"_ I pant, reaching back for his hips, which I clutch, lay forward on his back and then ...

_Bang ! _

Hurtling myself and biting into his shoulder as I swing my hips mercilessly, eyes crossing as orgasm creeps ever close ... so _incredibly_ turned on by his desperate, anguished cries ... until there it is, on the near horizon ...

I reach round to toss him off, terrified I will come before he does, but he bats my hand away.

"_Fuckdon'ttouchit," _he pleads, speaking now so that everything's one word: _"Don'tstop ... don'tfuckingstop ..."_

I do my best in fact, to speed up ... and it's seconds later that his body goes rigid as the spasms, which, amazingly, I can actually feel, rocket and ripple through cock and body, causing him to jerk and quake and call out in my arms ... shortly after which I follow suit, shooting what feels like several small bucketloads into him.

I collapse into his heaving, sweat soaked back as he falls to the mattress. We lay there, each of us, in utter disbelief and, aside from the wheezings, complete silence ... which extends for what feels like 10 minutes ... a bit too long for my liking, to the point where, even now, even at this point, it serves to feed my newly buried but always just under the surface insecurities ...

_Please god, you cannot be this cruel. Please do not tell me Tony is feeling any sense of remorse right now, seeing as he's done, and unquestionably absolutely loved, the one act that straight boys fear, shun, and ridicule in harshest terms ... the one act that signifies a crossing over into definite homo territory ..._

I wait ... the moment, the day, my entire life hanging in the balance ...

He finally smacks his lips. His voice is gruff, and worn.

"_How soon can we do that again ?"_

I gush, audibly ... and it's huge, threatening to bowl me over, this sensation of joy, bliss, euphoria. My smile is metres-wide, triumphant. Really, there is no wiping this proud and pleased grin off my face.

"Like it, did you ?" I ask, kissing his cheek and wanting to hop and skip round the room in undignified fashion, but instead opting to roll, slip off the condom, and curl my body towards him ... which he reacts to by turning on his side and tucking me (what feels) protectively under his shoulder, in a sweaty and impossibly wonderful Tony-embrace ...

"_Fuck ya,"_ he whispers, and promptly falls asleep.

* * *

In an hour or so, Tony awakens, and is on me – he wasn't kidding, he wants to do it again, and right away. We make quick work of it, seeing as we're actually both soon due to show up for the day's field trip, no excuses.

This time at least, he faces me, though it's not what I'd planned ... he was so intrigued, transfixed, it turns out, by my riding him that he's taken to giving it a go, himself, bouncing and hurtling and shouting with absolute glee, straight up and down in my lap, which goes on for some time, seeing as I made the mistake of letting slip that a shoelace is an awfully nice thing ...

He rises and falls increasingly hard, forcing me deeper and deeper and ... my god, it's quite nearly unbearable, the sensation ... and I am struck that this is just completely surreal ... that it's not actually happening. How could it be ? Tony in bed with me ? Deliriously impaling himself in my lap ? He looks hazy, to my eyes, his features softened by a warm glow, like something out a dream.

Finally though, Tony's eyes fly open and his face changes. He slows his speed, instead choosing to grind and pull at me in devious and ingenious ways – like an expert, like a whore, like he's done this a hundred thousand times ... and, really, there's only so much a boy can take ... I scramble to pull at the end of the lace but Tony laughs, whispers_ "not yet" _and bats my hands away, taking and pressing them next to my head and leaning to capture my mouth in a spectacular kiss, biting and pulling on my lower lip, brazenly licking my tongue, the two of us panting into the other's mouth until Tony's face sparks.

I watch, in awe, the changes, the beads of sweat on his brow, the rising colour in his cheeks. After a half dozen further joltings, his body stiffens. Twice more and a beautiful storm passes over his face as the spasms begin rippling through his body. I can feel it in his thighs, in his fingertips, in his spine, that he's coming. He calls out hoarsely. His lids flutter and his face is blissful indeed. He collapses into my neck, panting with great effort.

After a beat, he kisses my ear, raises his pelvis, yanks on the end of the lace, and whispers.

_"I'm gonna make you come_."

* * *

In the shower stall, he's animated.

"Gay sex is good, did you know that, Max ?"

I laugh.

"_No_ idea, _really_ ? Seriously ? Why would you wanna _do_ that, though ! ?"

"Cuz it makes you come better than you ever have. Puts barbies and chick-lettes to shame."

* * *

As we dress, I begin getting very, very jittery over our pending re-entry into the real world, especially since Tony is determined to announce it right away, soon as we climb the bloody stairs.

He shrugs.

"I just don't see any reason to wait."

"How will Chelle feel, though ?"

"Who gives a shit ? We're all but split, anyway. I'm a free friggin' _agent_."

"But she might hate me. She might blame me. Sid, too, maybe even Jal."

He shrugs.

"Fuck 'em, if they can't handle it."

"They're my friends though, Tone."

He then says it, right out of the blue, as if it's a solid, established and irrefutable fact, something you could look up in a dictionary.

"And _I'm_ your bloody _boy_friend."

The phrase echoes about the room and bounces inside my heart and head.

He leans to kiss me quick. I'm still staring off, in disbelief, over what I've just heard.

"Right," I finally blurt. "We've done nothing wrong. And if we continue like this, it'll be sneaking round behind Chelle's back, which I don't wanna do. It'll take some getting used to on everybody's part, but we'll find out who our real friends are anyway."

"_Exactamundo_. Can't exactly argue with two people in love."

My head whips around.

"Two people _what_ ? !"

He shrugs.

"Sorta fallin' in love with ya, Max." He grins beautifully. "Innit obvious ?"

* * *

We grasp hands, and climb, or rather, float up the stairs. Yes, I feel exactly like I'm levitating. It seems months since I was last here, in this hallway, yet incredibly, it's been less than a week. I was a different person then, completely different, it turns out. I'm convinced I look different, that I've grown a foot, that my eyes are brighter, that my complexion's better. I'm convinced I've undergone a profound biological change, in fact, on maybe a cellular level. How else to explain this feeling of _newness, _of being so alive and fresh and ridiculously happy ? All quite unfamiliar things for Maxxie.

Shit, I'm even thinking about myself in the third person – definitely Tony's influence.

It then flashes through my mind, the idea of telling mum and especially dad, who will insist that we're taking the mick, that someone's paid Tony and I to walk around town holding hands as a joke ...

* * *

We round the corner and enter the cafeteria, hand in hand, my stomach doing nervous flips, and dead straightaway, the place falls silent, with all of the air sucked immediately from the room.

Everyone stares. After a long beat, Jal is the first to speak.

"What the fuck is _this_, then ?"

Tony shrugs, and speaks matter of factly.

"Maxxie n I've hooked up."

Chris laughs.

"Right – good one, bloody good one, mate."

"It's not a joke, Chris," Tony continues, calmly, "nothin' funny 'bout it, really."

Chelle then approaches, red faced.

"What kind of _bullshit_ is this ?"

"Elasticity of human desire," Tony replies.

If the atmosphere weren't so tense and awful, I'd be laughing with delight.

"Meaning _what,_ exactly ?" Jal snaps.

"Meaning, Maxxie's my _boyfriend_ now. I recognize it'll take some getting used to-"

"-_Boy_friend ? ?" Chelle spits. "Is that so ? Since when're you a _poof_, Tony, huh ! ? You're a _tosser_, and a _wanker_ and a continuous cheating _bastard_, but I never saw you as a _poof_ !"

"Fuck off," I actually hear myself blurting, and then I immediately feel bad. I know she's cool with gays, I know she's just saying it in anger due to one of us inexplicably taking up with her almost officially ex-boyfriend without warning ...

"-Come off it, Chelle," Tony explains, "we're dead, you and I, no use pretending otherwise, is there ? And yes, I cheated on you like nuts, every chance I got, but I'm all through with duplicitous behavior."

"Duplic- _what_ ? ?"

Tony nods.

"Totally ridin' the pole, now. Lickin' the plastic. Doin' the rabbit-bounce. Tyin' and _un_tyin' the _shoelace_. Yep, sex is rather inordinately _kickin_'."

"_Sex ? !" _Chelle shrieks, looking quickly from me to Tony. "You've had _sex_ ? !"

I flush. God, I hate that I feel this embarrassed.

Tony sighs as if he's bored.

"Ya, once ... ten minutes ago ... once, ten minutes before _that_, and like, two dozen times otherwise."

Fuck. Not exactly nice.

"I'm _sorry_, Chelle," I finally blurt. I can't help it.

She turns to me. Her eyes fill as she spits out her words.

"How long has this been going on ? ?"

"Just a few days, I swear. Only since Russia."

Her eyes narrow.

"_So while I was bringing you crisps and magazines and holding your hand in hospital you were fucking him ?"_

"_No_." I fidget, flustered. "_Yes_. I mean-"

"-_I_ went after 'im, Chelle, _not_ the other way around. _Not_ Maxxie's idea. In fact, he said no at first cuz he was actually thinking of you."

"_Thinking of me ? !"_

"It's true. You don't have to believe me, but it was practically the first words out of his mouth."

"Chelle," I say, feeling horribly guilty but at the same time defensive, "I'm sorry about this, I never wanted to hurt you, but ... thing is, I mean, ... now that Tony and I are, like, established-"

"_-Established ! ?"_

I clear my throat.

"Now that we're _established_, we felt it was best to be honest about it as soon as we could, and plus, I mean, ... remember you _did_ tell me yourself you were splitting up."

She shakes her head, looking disgusted.

"I cannot fucking believe this."

"I'm _sorry_. I _didn't mean for it to happen_, Chelle, I swear. We didn't _plan_ it; we didn't set out to hurt you and again, honestly, in the long run, I mean ... I know it feels shitty, but ... what difference does it ultimately make if you and Tony were already pretty much through ? And, also ... if we'd waited a month to tell you, wouldn't that've been worse ?"

She stops. Seemingly stumped for the moment.

"I wish so much it didn't involve hurting you, Chelle, but at the same time, I mean, ... you have to understand, I can't help who I fall in love with."

"In _love_ ? ! You think you're in _love_ ? !"

I tighten my grip on his hand.

"Yes."

She snarls.

"This is such unbelievable _bullshit _! Isn't it really just _lust _? !"

"Nothin' wrong with lust," Tony cracks.

She begins shouting.

"You're just a little slut, Maxxie ! A little blonde _slut_ like all of Tony's _tarts_ !"

"Hey !" Tony shouts, but she continues.

"I _know_ you've always wanted 'im, for years, now, right ? Don't deny it ! In less than a _week_ you turn 'im gay ? What kind of ... are you a fucking witch or something ? !"

"A warlock," Tony calmly interjects.

"_You've had a whole year with with him, Chelle,_ and as your friend-"

'"-_Friend_ ! ?"

"-_As your friend_ and as somebody who actually _cares_ about you, I'm _sorry_ it didn't work out, but that's not my fault or my doing ! _Please_, Chelle. I know this feels awful right now. I know you feel like we've betrayed you or whatever, but if you'd just give us the _tiniest_ benefit of the doubt that we _didn't_ actually _plan_ this – I swear to you it came completely out of the blue ! And then the only decent thing to do was to try and tell you as soon as we could !"

"Oh, well that's just so thoughtful of you, Maxxie ! So generous ! Thank you !"

_Enough_. I've given it my best shot. I re-clasp Tony's hand. I look into her face and say it.

"He's not yours, anymore, Chelle."

"_Jesus_," someone behind her mutters.

"Well good luck to you then," she says to me with deepest sarcasm. "I wish you _all_ the fucking _best_."

"Look," I look round the room. "I know everybody's a bit upset about this cuz it's so sudden and a bit shocking that Tony would've gone with me, and I wish right now we'd introduced the idea in maybe a better way. But at the same time I feel good that we're coming clean here and being honest about the situation. I'm just genuinely sorry it's hurt anybody. I never wanted that."

"Well," she says, sniffling, "you can't have it both ways," and storms off.

My heart plummets. I really had hoped she would take it better, but that was clearly naive of me, and now it seems I've lost a friend.

Sid follows quickly, with Tony shouting after him.

"Cheers, Sidney, go after 'er ! She's _single_ now, mate."

"_Shut up,"_ I tell him.

"Fuck off, Tony," Jal mutters as she moves to leave.

"Give a bloke a break, willya Jal ? We're in love !"

She continues to glare, to which Tony responds:

"You of all people know Chelle and I were through, Jal. Don't pretend otherwise."

"That may be true-"

"-It _is_ !"

"-But it _still_ doesn't excuse you going about it this way, without any warning, without preparing her ahead of time. To just walk in here with Maxxie announcing you've jumped _ship_ ? "

"You homophobic, Jal ?"

"_No_, _arsehole_-phobic !"

"Well, you know what ? We don't actually owe _you_ or _anybody else_ an explanation. Maxxie n I are givin' it a go, riding' out that _elasticity_ til it twangs like a freaking violin, like a freaking symphony, understand ?"

She squints, baffled, like he's nuts. He looks behind her and shouts.

"_How many of you lot are gonna run out on two of your friends just cuz they hooked up ? Just cuz one of 'em turns out maybe slightly gay ? Hmm ?"_

_

* * *

_

And so the remainder of the week continues in this fashion, with everyone, save for Chris, shunning us. Chris is certainly the only one who will sit at our table in the cafeteria, though even then, the conversation is stilted and awkward.

At one point, though, later on, he stops me in the hallway, on my way to the loo.

"Just wish you'd gone about it in a better way, mate. That's all. Maybe a lot of this ugliness coulda been avoided, y'know ?"

"I know," I say, sadly. "I guess I wish it hadn't been so public – I wish we'd thought about it a bit more ahead of time."

"Oh well ... I guess that's the price ya pay for love, ya ?"

I shrug. I sigh.

"I guess."

"Don't worry, Maxxie. Things'll right themselves."

He slaps me on the back and grins.

"So, anyway, how's the ol' Tone-meister in the sack ? Big dick, I hear."

* * *

At night, Tony and I retire to our downstairs flat and drown our sorrows in each other (though Tony doesn't seem particularly sorrowful), fucking and hurtling and riding and rimming til we lose our strength. Invariably we do some version of it again in the middle of the night, and in the morning awaken groggy but sated.

Upstairs, the miserable shunning happens all over again, which is particularly jarring for Tony, I realize, in part because as a straightboy, it's not something he's often had to experience, at least on this blatant a level. For me, as a _poof_, I've many times been avoided and ignored, even by so-called friends.

* * *

The trip comes to a thankfully quick end, with a near-silent plane ride home, save for the snoring, seeing as Tony falls immediately to sleep and stays that way.

A few weeks later, I'm approached after class by Sid. I brace myself, and am relieved when it's not to have a go, but rather to assure me that he's thought about the whole situation, holds no grudges and still wants to be my friend.

I could kiss him.

"Is Chelle ... I mean, how is she doing ? She totally avoids me. She hates me, I suppose."

"She doesn't hate you, Maxxie. She's just hurt. She loved Tony a lot at one point – not all that long ago. She wanted it to work out but I think she's comin' round to the reality that it wasn't gonna happen. And that that's totally not your fault. Plus ... I sort of asked her out."

I look at him, astonished.

"_What ? ?"_

He grins shyly.

"So what'd she say ?"

He nods.

"Amazingly, she said yes. She knows, _everybody_ freaking knows I've been in love with her for a bloody _decade_, thanks in no small part to Tony spellin' it out for her, but that seems to have worked in my favour. She says the good thing about splittin' from Tone is that she'll always know what she definitely _doesn't_ want."

I feel a bit of an insulted twinge here, and it must show on my face, because right away Sid's scrambling to apologize.

"Sorry – I mean, _you_ know what I mean, Maxxie. Tony can be ... I mean, he's ..."

I touch his shoulder.

"I know, Sid, but he's getting better. He really is. He misses you guys. We both do."

* * *

The next day, it's Jal.

"Chelle wants to talk to you."

"Talk to me ? Fuck, what, to rip my head off again ?"

"_No_. I think she genuinely wants to normalize things, a bit. She's still hurt, but she feels bad that nobody's talking to you."

"Or to Tony."

"Tony's a prick, though."

I look at her.

"Sorry," she says quickly. "Sorry. I forget you're _with_ him." She smiles. It's so nice to see Jal smile. "What's that _like_, anyway ? How'd it happen ?"

I grin shyly. I can't help myself.

We hunker down in two chairs and whisper like friends.

* * *

"Listen," Chelle says right off, "I was really hurt that day-"

"-I know. I'm sorry."

"No, what I'm trying to say is, I've been thinking a lot about it, what I said, and I know it's maybe too late, but I don't want you to take it personally. I was in shock, like. I was angry, mainly at Tony, it's just that it was easier to take it out on you, Max. But I'm better about it now, and while I still don't understand how Tony could suddenly be gay, or whatever, I guess I hope you guys do okay."

I'm blown away.

"Chelle ... wow ... that is ..."

"I just ... I just think you should know that Tony's really difficult."

"I know. He's trying, he really is, but I know."

She sighs. She leans and gives me a long, emotional hug.

"I just miss you, Maxxie. I hate all this silence and all these shitty feelings."

"Me too."

We pull back.

"So, we're cool then ? Put it behind us ?"

I smile.

"Ya, definitely."

She grabs my hand and kisses me on the cheek.

"I hear you're gonna go out with Sid ... ?"

She smiles. She laughs.

"Ya. What do you make of that ? Been a _long_ time coming."

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: the story continues with Chapter 11, 'More From Bristol', and then the actual final chapter (promise) of this overlong story, chapter 12, 'Afterword'.**_

_Okay, another just about literally slaved over set of chapters, here. Seeing as it's the end, and seeing as I have come to love these boys so much ... I really badly wanted it be perfect. Feedback regardlng my success or failure in this venture is much appreciated._

_Chapter 10 was one of polar opposites - a bit of a schizophrenic emotional roller coaster: first part being Tony's absolutely yummy deflowering and subsequent declaration of love, and then the painful second part in which they finally come clean with their friends, and it doesn't exactly go well. I felt terrible for poor Maxxie, of course, I mean, what a thing to be caught in the middle of - your love for your dream man, which you've just learned for the first time is requited (!), and your loyalty and love for your friends - and almost being asked to make a choice between the two - a cruel position for anyone to be in. I could also understand Michelle's outrage, though, and her friends rallying around her and taking her side, at least for a while. And then it was sort of a nice little twist to have hapless little milktoast Sid (of all people) stepping in and inadvertently proving the catalyst for it all. (Sid is btw my favorite Skins character.) Oh, and I just absolutely HAD to have Tony be incapable of keeping to himself all the new sexual things he's learning about, ('riding the pole', 'tying the shoelace', etc ). _

_Forgive me but the sex in this chapter was so hot I have to comment on it: First, the face to face kissing and slow, mutual masturbation on the bed as it pours down rain outside ? Fuck! I would honestly pay Hoult and Hewer to reenact that one scene for me, let alone ... the deflowering, of course, Maxxie's brief spank of Tony (surprisingly hot!), followed by all that damned rimming- phew! Mind you, the latter is not something I'm not squeamish about, and the plastic simply meant they could kiss afterwards, without running the risk of Hepatitis. (Not to get too 'medical'!) _

_More on the sex: Tony experiencing said rimming for the first time (the idea was that he's never even heard of it, let alone had it done to him) and finding himself helplessly writhing and slithering on the bed- my god, seriously - call the fire department ! I love Maxxie enjoying Tony's slitherings and mutterings so much that he forgets to stop. And earlier, Tony's surprise orgasm, just from being fingered and 'teabagged' alone, I mean, fuck ! And then once it all gets going, Tony's impatience when Maxxie hesitates even for a moment, poor dear._

**_Okay, so if you please ... go ahead and jump on over to chapters 11 and 12 ... _**


	11. Chapter 11

**More From Bristol**

Tony and I are happy. Against all odds, perhaps, certainly against the predictions of our families and friends, and yes, it's only been a few months, but ... as far as miracles refusing to cease, we, he and I, just simply seem to 'fit' – the happy reality staring us in the face every day. As Tony said, it's hard to argue with two people in love.

At first it was difficult, due mainly to the understandable but still disappointing initial reaction of our friends, and my dad had a major issue with it for a while, even now he's still a bit wary, and Tony's mum, as well, for what she felt was my 'conversion' of her son ... but things have worked themselves out for the most part, and here Tony and I stand, pretty strong, pretty tight.

Amazingly, we basically spend every possible waking moment together, (and quite a few sleeping ones), always, it seems, brazenly holding hands ... from the hallways in between class, to adjacent seats when we share a class, to lunchtimes in the cafeteria (from which we sneak away so often to make love in empty classrooms or broom closets that it's become a nearly school-wide joke and guessing game – 'where are Tony and Maxxie fucking today ?') (What they don't realize is that sometimes it isn't to fuck. Sometimes we just want to eat our lunch outside, alone together.)

Following school we are good boys and do our homework quickly, and apart, figuring there's less temptation that way, and are then rewarded with free afternoons and evenings, to do as we wish ... sneaking in through the fire exit at the old downtown movie house; riding our bikes by the river, pulling over to sit under a tree, and then running and jumping into the water on a dare; window shopping in the gay district (which Tony finds terribly unnerving, seeing as he invariably and immediately catches the eye of every male within 50 paces), and attending each other's "extracurricular arty bits", as he puts it, ie my dance rehearsals and recitals, and Tony's choir practices and concerts.

One Saturday, to celebrate our first month together, we got up early and trained it over to London where we went to about fifteen museums (free), sneakily piggy backed onto an architectural walking tour (free), attended an afternoon gig at the London Dance Company (expensive, but breathtaking), had a Highgate Cemetery wander and a picnic (shared Pret A Manger cucumber sandwich- cheap!), as well as a visit to Hampstead Heath (if only to prove to Tony that there really is a "men only" ie gay area and pond), browsed at Covent Garden, sat for a church choir practice at St Martin in the Fields (stunning! and free!), traipsed about Picadilly for cheap, tacky 'bobby' and Big Ben souvenirs, on an errand from my mum perused the frighteningly enormous tea department at Fortnum & Mason's, had a quick run to Tite Street to view Oscar Wilde's house, raced over to Buckingham Palace to gawk and snap pictures, and ended the day at an all-ages show at Ministry of Sound, another at KOKO, and finally a gay club called Heaven (which it wasn't) ... followed by a mad rush to catch the 2am train home, where we just about collapsed in our seats, with me actually falling asleep, face in his chest.

Closer to home, at another point we decided to get ourselves tatooed, the only question being, where on the body ? Tony wanted it in large block letters on the back of his hands until I persuaded him that his forearms might be better, for future employment purposes, and then we moved on to the idea of our biceps, then pectorals, then finally our arses, in response to which I told him the joke about having two W's tattooed to either side of your bumhole, and what that would spell when you bent over. It took him a few seconds, but when it clicked, Tony laughed like a hyena for 15 straight minutes, the sound and sight of which tends to significantly elevate my level of _smitten ... _and which is perhaps the best illustration of the 'new' Tony, or, the 'Maxxie-era Tony', as our friends have actually called it. He laughs more, and harder, and freer, and he's less of a dick than he ever was (though he still retains the right to be, he tells me). Jal says it's because Tony's "occupied". ("You take up so much of his day, Maxxie, of his _week_, that he doesn't have _time_ any more to be a cunt.")

Oh ... and the word that we wanted tatooed on our bodies ? (Before we finally chickened out.) The nickname people have given us, like the ones given coupled-up Hollywood movie stars ...

"_Taxxie" _

No explanation needed there, really.

* * *

One rule we have is that around town, whether walking, riding the bus, or otherwise, we hold hands, which Tony has zero problem with, but which has drawn more than a few hostile glares, nastily spat words, and twice so far, a brief but for the most part injury-free punchup ... but ... we still do it. This is where Tony shines, where his self confidence, his bravado and balls really show. The difference is, I do it, but I'm nervous – how can you not be, when you can get kicked in the head for it ? Tony by contrast never is, and seems even at points to want to flaunt it, (which in truth I wish he wouldn't), swinging our joined hands high between us as we pass a group of unsavory looking gits.

In this way, Tony and I are good for each other. I've somehow managed to tame or at least neutralize his more dick-ish behavior (not entirely, mind you, but for the most part), while Tony has toughened me up a bit and certainly massively driven up my confidence. I know I'm getting better marks at school and I find my dancing to be the best and most inspired of my life - even my instructors have remarked as such. And, in a direct rub-off from Tony, I pretty much find I can no longer suffer fools.

As far as his new 'identity' ... in public, Tony jokes that he's "tri-sexual", ie that he will '_try_ anything', har har, but calls himself "usually straight though apparently/obviously bi, but, at present, completely happy and happily gay", when pressed, after which he will undoubtedly grill the person about their own sexuality to the point of asking them their favorite, raunchiest positions and sexual fantasies, what kind of noises and facial expressions they make, and what images they masturbate to ... to illustrate the point that it's none of their goddam business who he likes to screw.

_Privately_, Tony tells me he genuinely feels that he's gay only in my particular case, and I believe him (and also, in truth, do not mind this one bit.) At the London gay club, for example, and in gay locales overall, he is routinely, blatantly and endlessly ogled, sometimes even propositioned (such as when I go off to the loo but also when I'm standing right next to him), and while he tries to laugh it off, it makes him uncomfortable to the point of withdrawing – something Tony simply doesn't do. So as a result, we usually stay away from these places.

Okay, but getting back to who he likes to screw ... I can't fairly comment on our relationship without touching on this area, which I will try to put as delicately and succinctly as possible ...

Tony likes to fuck. Often. And he likes to hold me afterwards.

Tony likes to explore. Often. And is tickled that I say no to nothing.

(He figures this is one of the biggest advantages to sex with guys versus girls – that we males are too ego-driven and embarrassed, or is it lacking in taste or self respect, to admit to any sort of timidity, even when we do actually feel it, regarding perversions ... and so we pretty much try them all.)

(PS- the only one that's really stuck has been the handcuffs. Oh ya, and blindfolds.)

* * *

The sweetest moments are maybe when Tony asks me to draw him, which is rather often. (Lest anyone think our hooking up has negated in any way his opinion of himself and his good looks ...)

Sweet because it means we are quiet together for long moments, sometimes an hour, as I fidget and re-drew and yell at him to keep still and erase and re-draw again. There is just something so particularly calming and lovely and romantic about it – this knowledge that, unlike I think most people, we are completely comfortable in each other's silent company. We feel no awkwardness nor need to rush to fill the conversational gaps, and it's maybe one of my favorite things about us. It speaks, I feel, to our connection being right, and good, and that it was, in fact, maybe even meant to be.

This is not to say that Tony and I don't fight, for we certainly do, but thankfully not over anything particularly serious, and each time after which we are provided the excuse (not that we need it) for serious, strenuous make-up sex.

So overall, things are really good. About as good as I could wish, frankly. I don't know how long it will last, but I try not to think about it, though I admit I seriously can't imagine my life without him. That's the thing about Tony. Love him or hate him, he gets under your skin and makes you care, makes you need him and love him madly, kind of like an addiction, without the bad bits.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

_Okay, this bit was a pleasure to write, of course. Who doesn't want to think about these boys being in love and happy and stealing off to have big and little adventures ? Having them being known by their friends and acquaintances as "Taxxie" I simply could not resist. Nearly everything they did in London, btw, I did when I visited there for the first time two years ago (including Pret A Manger inexpensive and very good sandwiches, as well as inadvertently witnessing an unforgettable choir practice at St Martin in the Fields, buying Big Ben magnets in Picadilly, visiting and being blown away by the crazily massive tea department at wonderful Fortnum & Mason's, perusing Covent Garden, and of course, gawking and snapping pictures at Buckingham Palace. Never got to Tite Street, unfortunately.) I absolutely adore the image of these two broke boys sharing one small sandwich all day, due to having blown what little money they had on the dance show because that is Maxxie's passion. And ending up exhausted on the train ride home, with Maxxie falling asleep in Tony's arms. Shit- is there a sweeter image ?_

_Also wanted to note that the three clubs mentioned, Ministry of Sound, KOKO, and Heaven, are all real clubs in London - the first two I'm told are dance clubs, the last being an actual gay club. Also, there really is a 'men only' area and pond inside Hampstead Heath (as featured in the 2006 film 'Scenes of a Sexual Nature') - couldn't have made that up. As far as I know, there is nothing called the London Dance Company, though._

_I worry that in this chapter I've made Tony lose too much of what makes Tony, Tony, ie the scheming, devious side of him. Some might say, without this, what is he ? It's probably an overly romantic and perhaps unrealistic notion that somebody like Tony would change that much by falling in love, but perhaps my feeling is that this is actually his first time being legitimately head over heels. Dunno. I tried to have him still be the ornery risk taker of old (swinging their hands high in the air and especially being as obnoxious as possible to anyone who inquires as to his sexuality,) but the reader can advise if I've de-Tony'd him too much._

_I realized mid way through this chapter that I hadn't had Maxxie sketching anything, anywhere in the entire story, so I enjoyed having him do so here, and finding this among his happiest moments with Tony, as well as his feeling that it provides confirmation that their connection is "right and good, and in fact maybe even meant to be." Ahhh, I do love (and will miss) these boys terribly, sniff ..._


	12. Chapter 12

**Afterword**

Okay ... well over a year down the road, now, and I rather wistfully have to report that Tony and I did not last. The reason being, it was inevitable, I suppose ... he had a relapse, and went back to girls. Which at the time, of course, was crushing, devastating, actually, however even then, even in the midst of my daily sobbing misery and fury, I was thankful that at least he hadn't cheated on me with a boy.

It was bad, though ... really fucking bad, particularly after seven months of what felt to me like paradise. It was just so horrid and awful to feel hatred for someone whom I had grown almost to worship ... but ... the good and happy news is ... I'm down in London now, living with my boyfriend, John, whom I love to pieces and who, yes, works for the local dance company (though not as a dancer) ... and I'm even happier to report that Tony and I have made up and are actually quite great friends again (he's pretty much my best friend, in truth), in fact he was just here - he stayed with us last weekend for a visit. He's come and stayed with us a few times, actually, (as has Anwar, even), and there has been no awkwardness or tension at all. He's with a new girl now, Marta, a Polish exchange student studying chemistry of all things, and I can honestly say I'm genuinely happy for them both.

* * *

I have a lot of great memories of our time together and wouldn't have exchanged it for anything, but there is still, at times, this bittersweet feeling about it in my heart, his having been my first true, and great love. Still, though, again, I have no regrets. Realistically, it's not like people who hook up at age 17 are going to be together forever – that sort of thing really barely ever happens, outside of old movies, and with uni looming for him in Cardiff, and me having my sights on London, it was inevitable, I suppose, that we would have split. I was happy, at least, that we got to celebrate our 18th birthdays together.

Overall, I learned a lot from Tony, and I like to think, vice versa. I certainly learned about things such as spontaneity and throwing caution to the wind. I learned too, what an amazing person he was (still is), how exceptionally bright and talented he was (is), and I know I was happy every single day to make him happy, or to at least try. We learned and grew and matured a lot during our brief time together; I like to think, _because_ we were together.

But anyway, I sound like an old frigging man, which I am not. At present, I am 19 and a half years old, dancing _almost_ for a living (can't yet afford to quit my day job at the local corner grocery), John and I are active in the London gay rights community, and we not only have a pretty decent (if tiny and fiercely overpriced) North London flat, but a new puppy, called 'Boo'.

So ya, I'm doing okay, and John is cool, and lovely, and not even bothered that Tony and I still talk and/or text nearly every day. He sends me ridiculous long-winded two part filthy gay jokes by email, always signing them "_Antonio_", and I turn round, tell him to go fuck himself, and fire off endless cute photos of Boo.

* * *

Life is a strange thing, no ? It throws all kinds of inexplicable shit at you, and then sits back and expects you to adjust. Sometimes, it allows your wildest, most insane dreams to come true, things that to you, are miracles. And then it will turn round, some months later, and make you pay very dearly for those miracles. The key, I suppose, is to learn to accept that you oftentimes can't have one without the other - just the laws of nature, or some such shit. So it's left to you to decide if the miracle was worth having at all, if it was one day, and too soon (in your opinion), going to cease.

In my case, the obvious and often bittersweet but ultimately very happy answer would be, absolutely yes.

* * *

**THE END,**

(thank you)

**

* * *

**

_**Author's (final) note: **_

Okay, well it is with no small amount of bittersweet wistfulness of my own that I finally end this tale.

I think it's realistic that Maxxie would look back and see that knowing and loving Tony was a bit of a miracle, but that it 'ceasing' was also something terribly costly to him. The hope there is that with time and a bit of maturity, he would recognize that in life you do sometimes have to take the good with the bad. At any rate, I am pleased and honored and tickled to have had Tony and Maxxie make up and become friends again, to the point of Tony spending weekends at Maxxie's place in London (I mean, what a sweet idea), and the two of them communicating just about every day. (One has to wonder if this same wistfulness that Maxxie feels is possibly shared by Tony, especially when he sees him living and making a life with another man.) I'm mostly pleased that Maxxie is happy and has made peace with it all, and that he realizes that, particularly with loving people as complex and difficult and emotionally costly as Tony, that you do pay a price, but you are also ultimately rewarded and enriched that much more simply for having known them, than you would with just mister ordinary boring average uncomplicated '_joe'_.

At any rate, I sincerely hope this proves a pleasing ending for readers, more sweet than bitter, and worthy of the their time as well as the rest of this story. It's nothing brilliant, but I like it and am genuinely pleased with it, I have to admit. A good, (if bittersweet, but then I've always been fond of bittersweet) note, I think, to end the story on, and a neat tie-in, obviously with the title.

This chapter was completed late last night, when, up til maybe the last 10 minutes, I had been getting frigging absolutely goddamn nowhere, and was struggling mightily to put a wrap on this voluminous tale, which btw should be measured not just by it's 1 million odd words, but in the many, many ounces of sweat and bouts of hair-pulling and wall-punching, as one straight American adult woman struggled once again, to, as much as humanly possible, accurately, genuinely and respectfully portray (meaning living with and getting deep inside of the mind and soul of) a 17 year old gay English boy - something I've been doing as a way more than part time job (unpaid, though yes, a labor of love, on top of my real full time job), since _July_, and it's frigging _October_. I knew that Maxxie and Tony would not last (realistically and statistically, there was just about zero chance), and I knew I wanted Maxxie to be looking back with mixed feelings over the whole thing, but, beyond that, it wasn't really happening. And, honestly, after ALL of the time and fucking hard work I have put into this thing, I was damned if I was going to let it end on a less than (hopefully) perfect note. Only problem being ... nothing was coming. I call this "concrete brain", those moments when your effing left brain is in charge and fighting you on visuals, free association, passion, feeling, _play_, and most importantly, hearing the music and rhythm inside the language. In this state, when nothing flows, you are caused to overthink (almost always resulting in trite, dullass, cliche and 'concrete' ideas and images) rather than to allow the nice, colorful, spinning whirlwind to explode inside your head.

I had the idea that I'd love it to end a la the way the legendary/infamous American baseball diary, _Ball Four _ends - with the writer, a baseball pitcher on his last legs, saying that he has spent a good deal of his life gripping a baseball, and in the end it turns out it was the other way around all along. Simple, but lovely. Bittersweet, without the bitter. That's what I was going for.

Anyway, so the inspiration came suddenly and simply (and obviously and rather unromantically), after I'd given up and while I was brushing my teeth, from my own damned story's subtitle _Miracles Never Cease ... _Like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, I suppose there are times when you need not look further than your own backyard ...

But, okay, enough of my blathering ...

Fare thee well, dear readers, and fare thee well, my dearest lovely Tony and Maxxie - I have enjoyed your company immensely these last few months, having lived with and felt your pains and anguish as well as your triumphs and joys ... Allow me to wish you great happiness in your young lives. Stay safe, take care and write home once in a while.

**Acknowledgements and general thank you's :**

To _everyone _who took the time to read and review - the funny thing is, someone warned me off of posting to FF telling me that it had a supposed 'de facto bias' against _slash_, of all things. So when I somewhat nervously put up my first chapter back in July, and then immediately had two or three review alerts popping up in my inbox, prior to reading them, I was actually afraid I was getting flamed. So thanks to all of you for your exceedingly kind and encouraging words, and for not flaming me ! As mentioned in my profile, I have had a slash blog up on Wordpress since last fall which has had virtually no traffic (which, believe me, is depressing!), so to come here and end up with dozens of readers and reviews from some _42 _different countries (believe it or not) is absolutely staggering!

To _Lizzy384 _thanks for so damned much editorial help and support - this is a writer's dream, folks - long, unflinching reviews and PMs that tell it to you straight when you fuck up and support and encourage you otherwise - absolute dream, I tell you! Here is an Australian woman who went so far as to enlist the help of friends in England re proper British slang words or substitutes for American terms such as 'guys', for an American writer she's never met. Thank you- you absolutely kick ass/arse.

To _Anastasis_, my unbelievably sweet young Polish reader, who started off with chapter one, and then (I'm _tickled _to report) got so caught up in the Wordpress blog that she hasn't been back, but promises she will ! In the meantime, she provides me with great critical feedback on about a weekly basis (it's a long blog, folks, and she can only get to about 2 or 3 chapters a week). I can't wait for her to finish over there and return here to Taxxie-land !

To my best friend _Dian_, who has had the unenviable task of hearing, on a near daily basis, my moans and struggles and hopes and squirmings with regards to not only the Taxxie story, but all of my writings, for two + years now. She is the only person in my non-online world ie my real life who is aware of this quite strange writing habit of mine, and who is patient enough to put up with it and _read _and even provide what she calls 'book reports' ie very detailed constructive reviews. One million thank you's.

**To the many dozens of lurkers out there:**

You know who you are ! Goddamit - it's your last chance ... get off yer arses and write me a review !

Please ? :)

Pretty please ?

Thank you !

:)


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